and George
by cynic.in.a.fishbowl
Summary: What happens to George once the Fred of Fred and George is killed? This, in my own twisted opinion
1. Chapter 1

With a loud crack, twenty year old George Weasley apparated next to his twin brother's grave. Dumping the flowers he held on the freshly turned earth – his brother had only been buried a week earlier, and his mother hadn't let him out of her sight after the funeral lest he… Molly preferred not to think about what George might do to himself without Fred.

Sitting down, George leant against the back of a headstone, facing Fred's final resting place. He merely sat for a while. Eventually he spoke.

"The hell, Fred! You were meant to be the smart one. You had to go and get yourself killed?"

George's voice was cracking with the grief that he had until then been suppressing.

"Percy's doing the whole survivor's guilt thing, mum could barely function far a few days. Everyone's almost afraid to talk to me as if they're afraid I'll just go insane or something."

It started raining. Not just drizzling, this was proper English rain. George swore.

"Ron's off being 'consoled' by Hermione."

He made quotation marks with his fingers.

"Mum and dad are so cut up that they haven't noticed that Harry and Ginny are going at it like a bunch of teenagers."

George chuckled.

"You'd have a field day. So would I, were you still here. I have to fully articulate my thoughts these days, because you're not there to finish off my sentences. I'm going to start that chemical engineering course we were planning to do at Cambridge thanks to that wonderful bit of magic forgery Dumbledore did to get us glowing enough references. You never know when a little bit of muggle science is going to come in hand when you're running a magic joke store. It's going to be different not being an immediate novelty due to the whole twins thing. Although the missing ear will probably help that along."

George sighed and fell silent for a while.

"You would have loved the way mum reacted. She just started laying waste to the death eaters. This is the first time she's let me out of the house since the funeral. I guess she expects me to go off myself or something. Everyone's pretty depressed: Remus and Tonks were killed. Mum's been looking after Teddy, when she hasn't been bursting into tears pretty much whenever she sees me. Just looking at me makes her start crying. I don't know what I'm meant to do. What can I say? 'At least you've got one of us left'? I feel like crying whenever I see one of the photos of us. Everything just seems to reinforce the fact that we were a unit. 'Fred and George.' Now it's just 'and George'."

"What am I supposed to do, Fred?"

Eventually George stood up, saluted his brother's grave, and disapparated with another loud crack.

By that afternoon, the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining, or at least as much as it could in England. A teenage girl stepped off a bus at the bus stop next to the cemetery gates. Walking through the rows of graves, she stopped in front of the headstone George had been leaning against earlier.

Feeling the ground, she rolled her eyes, and from her bag pulled out a small picnic blanket to sit on. She then pulled out calligraphy pens, ink and a pad of paper, and started writing as she spoke.

"Well, dad, I'm almost sixteen. And I've finished fifth form. First in history, I won an award for sports, again, exceptional school service, again, and for some reason they gave me a prize for music, which was somewhat strange considering that I never actually studied music this year. I mean I was in the bands, but still. Mum thinks I lack an authority figure in my life. It's just because Tiffany gave me some Metallica and I happened to really like it. Mum's all the authority figure I need, I mean really."

She gazed around.

"I averaged a seventeen minute kilometre in my last open water race. I'm getting faster, and better at longer distances. The lacrosse is much the same, the season's more or less over so it's just more training…"

She trailed off.

"I've been asked to be in the orchestra for the upcoming LSE musical. One of the Old Girls is conducting it, and it turns out I'm the only tuba player she knows. So that should be fun. I still miss you. Half the girls at school are under the impression that you're alive, because it's just easier to refer to you as if you are. It gets a bit awkward when they ask something really pointed, and then I have to tell them the truth, because then they start apologising, and I'm just like 'it's alright, I'm over it' and everything just goes downhill from there. It's been a while. Eight and a bit years. I was going through your old tape cassettes, and you had some trippy stuff. Peter and the Wolf read by David Bowie? Wow. But yeah. Mum thinks that my consistent visiting is bordering on morbid obsession. I don't know how I'm meant to respond to that. It'd seem a little weird to say I'm talking to the air as if under the impression that you can in some way hear me. For that to happen I would have to believe in some kind of afterlife. And we both know that's impossible. I suppose I just come here because I can talk to you and you'll just listen without passing any judgement."

Ceasing her conversation with the air, she went back to writing – a Metallica song she intended to illuminate for a friend's upcoming birthday. After a while, she stood to stretch, and upon doing so, caught sight of a new grave. Walking over to it, she sat on the top of the rectangular headstone on her father's grave.

"Sorry dad."

And started reading.

Frederick Weasley

January 21 1985 – June 26 2005

Beloved son of Arthur and Molly.

Brother to William, Charles, Percival,

George, Ronald and Ginevra.

Sorely missed.

"You're new. And only twenty. That must have sucked. Have your family been visiting? I hope so. It's bad enough you're dead, it'd be worse if you were dead and lonely. And now I'm addressing a dead stranger. That's a bit hopeless."

Shaking her head, she returned to the bus stop from whence she had come.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the following months, George visited his brother's grave. Often every day, and never less than four times each week. Without Fred, he found it difficult to relate to his family and friends, and they were all treating him as if he were breakable. So he talked to Fred, planted flowers on the grave – jasmine, which Fred had always liked, but would never tell anyone.

"You'll be slightly bemused to know that I'm enrolled in a muggle university. I'll be studying economics and business, which should mean that I'm not merely producing according to trial and error, but I can anticipate demand, and ensure that supply reaches it. That sort of thing. Mum thinks I'm entirely insane, but she's so thrilled I haven't killed myself that she's letting it slide. Dad's thrilled, of course. He's been appointed head of muggle affairs at the ministry. He was all for refusing it, but Kingsley more or less forced him to take the position, citing some rubbish about the greater good."

Looking around to ensure that no-one was watching, George pulled out his wand and flicked it at the flowers, obliterating the weeds.

"Mum's at her wit's end with Teddy. She's just not up to raising an eighth child. I think it's just the fact that he keeps making his hair red. She still cries sometimes when she looks at me, or whenever she goes into our room. I've been keeping it immaculate so that she doesn't feel compelled to go in."

Checking again that no-one was near, he conjured a stream of water onto the plants.

"Nothing's really changed in the last two days. And really Fred, these conversations would be so much more interesting for the both of us if you would respond every so often… although in hindsight, I suppose that would pose a bit of a worry on my part with regard to my sanity. I can't work out why I keep coming back here. Not much happens other than normal family life. It's just nice still being able to talk to you I suppose."

George sighed, and spent the next hour and a half facing his brother's grave and staring into the middle distance. He generally tried to avoid staring into the middle distance at home, because it just made his mum cry. Apart from the first few days after the funeral, which no-one really talked about, during which time George merely sat in the room he had shared with Fred, alone, with the door spelled to be unopenable, he had more or less internalised his loss.

Molly was finding it somewhat more difficult to deal with the death of her son, and she was really trying her hardest to maintain composure whenever George was around, but he just reminded her so much of Fred that she couldn't stop the tears. She knew that the constant crying in front of George probably wasn't helping with his frame of mind, and she tried, Merlin knew, she tried.


	3. Chapter 3

Another few months passed and it was December. The weather was crap, as it was wont to be in England during December. Not quite cold enough yet for snow, sleet fell in its place, and that wasn't conducive to anyone's happiness.

A bus pulled up to the bus stop next to the cemetery, and a girl stepped off. It was the same girl who had visited the cemetery in early July, but yet she was different. She was paler, skinnier, and bald. It was the baldness that irritated Caitlin the most. She knew the hair would grow back eventually, after all, it had the last time, but it still irked her. She had much cause for being irked. Her leukaemia, which had been in remission since she had been thirteen had come back, and she had spent four months in hospital undergoing chemotherapy, and then another month and a half at home recuperating before returning to actual school. There were other side effects of the radiation, but she preferred not to dwell on them. At least sheer boredom had ensured that she didn't fall behind in schoolwork, because after all, what else it there for a girl to do when she's stuck at home, bald and nauseous from radiation?

She was gradually rebuilding the muscle she had accumulated from daily swimming and high level lacrosse. But the process was gradual. Her first swimming session since her discharge from hospital had been rather disheartening, as she had lost most of her strength and much of her speed. On the upside, she didn't need to wear a swimming cap any more.

Adjusting the hood of her waterproof trenchcoat (she never wore a snow jacket unless it was actually snowing – it seemed somewhat counter-intuitive to her) to keep out the sleet which was just beginning to stop, she crunched across the frozen ground towards her father's grave, she stood before beginning to rant.

"Oh my FUCKING god. That has been the WORST five months since the last bout of cancer. I mean the holidays started out fantastically: it was sunny(ish), the weather was (vaguely) nice, and the performances of Drood were inordinately fun. I even managed to swim in one of the five km races they tend to hold at the start of summer. And then I went for a blood test, and it turned out that the fucking leukaemia was back. So I was stuck back in hospital, again. It is so depressing to be around sick kids all the time!"

Caitlin was feeling somewhat overburdened: after all, the only person to whom she had been able to vent her spleen thus far had been Christine, the resident Psychologist for the anorexic girls in the ward next door.

The sleet stopped, and Caitlin pulled off the hood – she didn't like them – revealing a luridly pink beanie with a black border that she had knitted whilst in hospital. It was amazing what she got up to when she was bored.

"Staying up to date with schoolwork was really only possible because I had my friends emailing me the day's class work every afternoon, and now everyone at school is being all careful when they're around me as if they think I'm going to drop dead at any moment. Mum completely freaked, it got to be annoying to be anywhere near her, because she was just to worried all the time. My internal organs are all expressing their displeasure regarding the radiation, but at least they're all functioning. And apparently, I'm not going to be able to have kids. It doesn't do anything other than irk me at the moment, but still, one bout of cancer wasn't enough? And cancer notwithstanding, I still can't seem to be normal, because now either I'm insane, or the Force is with me. I can do stuff with my mind. The kind of stuff that Matilda can do in that Roald Dahl book. I doubt you can see it, but I'm rotating a pebble in midair."

And so she was. It somewhat scared her – the fact that she could do things which were meant to be solidly fictional.

"I don't know what the hell that fucking radiation did, but it's freaking me out. This flies completely in the face of Newton's laws of energy, especially the fact that I can just make light appear. This kind of thing just isn't meant to happen. And hokey as this sounds, it still feels right for me to be using this…power or whatever it is. It's kind of as if a part of my brain that was just dormant before has awoken or some such poetic drivel and awakened some latent talent of mine."

Of course she hadn't shared this little tidbit with Christine. Apparently it was against hospital policy to discharge the delusional. She hadn't shared that little tidbit with anyone until she said it in that deserted cold and damp cemetery.

"What the hell am I meant to do? I tried ignoring it, and then a week or so later when I was angry, balls of fire started growing in my hands. It wasn't voluntary, it just happened. I'm really worried that something'll happen that tests my control, and I'll do something that can't be explained away. What if it happens at school? It's bad enough being referred to behind my back as the cancer kid, this comes out and I'm going to have to leave the country."

After murmuring and apology to whoever's gravestone was behind her, she sat on top of the rectangular piece of marble, crossing her arms for warmth as the wind was beginning to pick up.

"I'm scared, dad." She said quietly, and it was the first time she had ever verbally admitted to being afraid about anything. Her stoicism had been legendary throughout her treatment – the doctors and nurses liked the fact that she acted as if hospital were the equivalent of germ-free boarding school.

A sudden gust of wind blew off the beanie, leaving her head uncovered and feeling rather cold. That too, served to irk Caitlin. She was in an irksome mood. Fear always put her into one.

**A/N: Drood is short for 'the mystery of Edwin Drood', a humorous but somewhat strange musical by Rupert Holmes. But then what do you expect from the guy who wrote the Pina Colada song.**


	4. Chapter 4

George stepped out of his car, and mentally thanking his mother for the ridiculously warm jumpers she knitted each year, he entered the gates of the cemetery. Although the sleet had stopped, it was completely empty but for a smallish figure in a black coat and ludicrously pink beanie who was sitting on a gravestone near Fred's.

Somewhat glad to see that he wasn't the only person braving the crappy English weather to visit a dead loved one, George made his way towards Fred's grave. As he silently approached (years of playing pranks with Fred had taught them to be able to walk silently in any situation so as to maintain the element of surprise), a sudden gust of wind blew the beanie off the head of the girl (he had seen the beanie and his brain had jumped to conclusions), showing that she was bald. George winced in sympathy – it had to be crappy being out in this weather without insulating your head. The string of expletives he heard confirmed that the figure was, in fact, a girl, and a rather eloquent one at that.

As he quickened his pace to reach the beanie – if nothing else, it would be good for him to meet someone new, someone who didn't know the whole gory tale – he saw her reach out her hand in the general direction of the beanie, and in a rather Darth Vader-esque fashion, cause the beanie to fly back to her. Feeling it, she muttered 'oh bugger', before conjuring up what looked like a ball of light from the reflection on the numerous puddles. Whatever that ball of light was supposed to do, it did, because a moment later the beanie was back on her head.

George was impressed. Not only was this clearly wandless magic, it was being done by someone who didn't seem older than about fifteen, and most amazingly, the ministry didn't seem to have picked up on it. And wandless magic was complex stuff. Only the most inordinately skilled wizards ever managed it, and even then it was with nowhere near the ease that this girl was doing it with. Only about ten metres away, George merely said "Impressive."

The girl somewhat overreacted. Jumping down, she spun around to face George, a ball of blue-grey fire growing in each hand. _Oh joy._ Thought George. _Another paranoid witch_. Deciding he should do something to diffuse the situation before she started flinging magical fire at him, he then said "That's not entirely friendly, is it."

She looked confused. George indicated her hands, and the now large-ish fireballs. She followed his line of sight, uttered another expletive, and then closed her hands into fists, enclosing the fire within them. She looked a little scared. She then relaxed her hands, and the balls of fire reappeared, bigger this time. Going even paler than she already was, she tried enclosing the fire again. And again it reappeared. By now she was beginning to panic as far as George could see.

"How do I stop this?" she cried out, frustrated and scared.

"I have no idea." Replied George. "I've never seen anyone conjure wandless fireballs."

"Shit." In her panic, the fireballs began to increase in size and brightness.

George could see that this was involuntary. Now beginning to be rather worried, he ensured that his wand, tucked up his sleeve, was in easy reach. "Try to calm down. You're entirely safe."

She merged the fireballs, and floating them in the air, gradually shrunk the one ball of fire into non-existence. George had to admit it was really cool to watch. Looking up at him, she said "You took that far too calmly. What gives? I mean just how much did you see prior to the fire stuff?"

"You did a Darth Vader-like thing with your hand to make your beanie come back, and then something involving a ball of light. And then the fire stuff. I've never even heard of wandless magic that powerful."

"What's with all the oblique references to wands?" she asked.

"You're joking." George said, more or less to himself. She must be a muggle, not having any knowledge of wands, but muggles couldn't do magic. Deciding to check, he picked up a stone from the ground, pulled his wand out of his sleeve, noticing the raised eyebrow on her behalf, and transfigured the rock into a stick before transfiguring it back again. "Wand." He said.

Her reaction confirmed his suspicion. She was a muggle who happened to be able to do magic. Either that or Hogwarts had really fucked up somewhere along the line. Stowing his wand in his sleeve, he walked over to the dumbfounded girl (she couldn't be older than Ginny) and offered his hand. "I'm George Weasley."

"Caitlin West." She responded automatically, shaking his hand.

"What the hell did you just to that rock?"

"Magic. You really have no idea about the magical world, do you?" he asked.

"Not in the sense in which I think you mean it, no."

"How long have you been able to…" he wiggle his fingers.

"About three weeks. How long have you been able to…" she mimed something that greatly resembled conducting an orchestra, but what George assumed meant magic.

"About nine years. I went to magic school and such."

Caitlin's eyes widened considerably. She seemed to be having trouble adjusting to the idea of magic actually existing.

"There's such thing as magic school?"

"As forward as this may seem," began George, "I'm pretty sure my parents would be better at explaining this than me."

"That sounds like a good idea." Was her still somewhat shocked reply.


	5. Chapter 5

Caitlin really wasn't bothered to get up and get her beanie. The cemetery was empty anyway. Her above average hearing told her that. Reaching out a hand, she envisioned the beanie flying towards her, and so it did. Feeling it, she discovered that it was rather wet. That too irked her. Making a ball of warm light around the beanie, she dried it before putting it back on her head which had begin to get cold. The lack of hair really sucked in this weather.

"Impressive." Said a man's voice from somewhere around her.

Caitlin was somewhat surprised. And then horrified. She had barely turned to face him when he spoke again, this time saying "That's not entirely friendly, is it."

This confused her. But then she noticed that he was looking at her hands. Which were holding involuntary balls of fire. She did the first logical thing that came to her somewhat stressed mind – closing her fists and thus putting it out. She couldn't feel anything, so she assumed it had been extinguished. It hadn't.

Eventually she controlled and put out the balls of flame. Then she realised that this mysterious tall redhead was taking her newfound abilities far too calmly, almost as if they were a part of life. But that was soon explained to her by the fact that he pulled a stick out of his sleeve and proceeded to turn a rock into a twig and back again. In her mind, this was really lending insanity a lot of credence.

This magical (or more likely imaginary) man was named George Weasley. The name seemed somewhat familiar to her for some reason. When imaginary George invited her to his house to have his parents explain 'magic' to her, she accepted. Not because she was especially inclined to go places with mysterious men, but mainly because she was fervently hoping that he didn't in fact exist, and that she had just gone nuts (in which case she was fine), and even if he was real, she could always just settle at pelting whatever her body came up with at him. Who knew what she was capable of.

They were almost at his car: a beaten up old Morris, when she remembered why his name was familiar. "You're Fred's brother." She said.

"Identical twin, actually." Caitlin fell silent, knowing in these circumstances it was best to just be silent.

As George put the car into gear and began to drive, he said "You've been summoning and conjuring stuff for three weeks." Caitlin nodded. "How did that come about?"

Caitlin smiled. "I had just finished my third round of Chemo for my second manifestation of cancer, hence the lack of hair. Anyway, I wanted a book that was across the hospital room, and I was in no state to walk, I was just thinking about it, and then it flew through the air to me. I promptly assumed I had gone insane from hanging around with the neurotic anorexics in the next ward, they're much more fun to hang around with than cancer patients." she said in response to his raised eyebrows. "I'm still somewhat hoping that it is actually insanity. That I can explain to myself."

"You're not." Said George. For a few minutes they navigated the again sleety streets of Ottery St. Catchpole before turning off the main road and driving for another ten minutes down a dirt road before drawing to a stop in front of a very tall, rather architecturally… exciting house.

As they walked towards the door, George said "In the interest of ease of understanding, a muggle is a person of no magical ability or knowledge whatsoever."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The door was then opened by a redheaded girl of about Caitlin's age.

"Raised eyebrow, question mark, George."

"Long story, Gin. Get mum and dad, as well as anyone else who's around. This is big."

"Right." The girl responded, turning into the house, and affording George and Caitlin view of a rather impressive hickey on her neck. They both stifled laughs.

"That was…"

"Yeah." Responded George. "She and her boyfriend… It's a really long story."

"I have no doubt." And then after a moment "How old is she?"

"Seventeen."

By then they were divested of cold weather clothing and walking towards the kitchen. When he wasn't dressed for sub-zero temperatures, Caitlin could see that George was rather good looking. Caitlin followed George into the kitchen where a multitude of red headed people sat, with a two other teenagers who clearly weren't related.

"Ok." Began George. "These are Molly and Arthur, my parents" he indicated them. "Charlie, Percy, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Harry. Everyone, this is Caitlin."

"You're not getting married, are you?" asked Ron.

"No Ron." Replied George acidly "I am not getting married. We only met today. Caitlin does wandless magic." 'Go for it.' He whispered.

Caitlin indicated the vase in the middle of the table, lifting it half a metre into the air. Using flicks and twists of her fingers, she made it tip upside down, then she extracted the water from it, keeping it in a slightly undulating sphere, righted the vase, set it on the table and added the water again.

Arthur Weasley was taken back. This kind of proficiency hadn't existed since Merlin, and even then, some historians were arguing that he was just doing non verbal magic, and no-one could tell the difference. Either way, this was just as big as George had intimated.

"Caitlin has no ministry trace, and she was a muggle up until three weeks ago."

"How does that work?" asked Percy.

"I found out I had this… skill after a round of chemo. And by accident too. I was in no state to walk, and a book I needed for schoolwork was across the hospital room. I was thinking about it and then it just flew to me."

"I saw her summon and then conjure up a ball of light before she noticed I was there. She panicked and conjured balls of fire involuntarily."

"So you developed magic from exposure to radiation." Said Arthur, almost in askance.

"It doesn't sound very plausible, does it." Agreed Caitlin.

"Had this happened one year earlier, Harry would have been undesirable number two." Snorted Charlie.

"Yeah right." Disagreed Harry.

"Oh, I don't know." Mused Percy. "You were just a kid who wouldn't die when he was supposed to. This undermines their whole manifesto."

Caitlin looked very confused. "I'll explain later." Said George.

The conversation thus ranged until Arthur floated the idea of calling in the Minister of Magic and getting his opinion on the matter. Caitlin had no objections, and so Kingsley Shacklebolt was sent for. And lo he arrived.

Entering the kitchen, Kingsley glanced around until he found the one face he wasn't familiar with. He had to say he was somewhat unimpressed. What he saw was a small girl wearing a ridiculously coloured beanie. It almost made his eyes hurt just looking at it. He didn't care if she was the biggest thing since Merlin. She looked pitiful.

Roughly the same explanation that had already been given to the Weasleys and Co. was repeated. Kingsley had to admit that he was now remarkably more impressed. She quite possibly could be one of the biggest things since Merlin. Wanting to speak to Molly and Arthur alone, Kingsley asked everyone else to clear out. Charlie apparated off to tell Bill and Fleur what had happened, and everyone else went outside with the idea of seeing just what Caitlin could do.

Kingsley looked at Molly and Arthur. "You were right. This is big."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"There is no precedent whatsoever." Continued Kingsley. "We can put a trace on her, but there's really nothing else we can do. There's no point in sending her to Hogwarts, it's aimed entirely at wand magic. Do her parents know?"

"She gave the impression that she'd rather die than let her mother find out." Interjected Molly.

"Ah." Said Kingsley. "How old is she?"

"Sixteen and a bit."

"In that case it'd be more trouble than it's worth to put the trace on her, by the time the red tape clears, she'd be seventeen. I think the best thing would be for you two to keep an eye on her and make sure she knows what's going on, and how to control her magic. The last thing the ministry needs at the moment is another PR nightmare."

Kingsley looked out the window where Caitlin was standing in the middle of a circle of the Weasley children and friends, who were all sending spells at her. "You'll probably want to keep an eye on that." He said before disapparating.

At that exact moment, Teddy awoke from a nap. And made his displeasure known. Audibly. Molly and Arthur went to quieten him.

Meanwhile, outside (well in actuality, it was slightly prior, but I'm sure you'll work it out), Ginny came up with a marvellous idea.

"We're all seventeen." Assorted nods. "And you don't have a trace on you." a look of confusion followed by affirmation from George. "So why don't we see what you can do?"

No-one had any compelling arguments not to.

"See if you can make a shield of some kind." Said George.

Caitlin, not quite sure what kind of thing this would entail, did what she usually did for magic – envisioned what she wanted to happen. She imagined a force field, and only realised something had happened when numerous expletives told her that she had pushed everyone away from her by about five metres. Reining in her not so imaginary shield, they approached again.

"Let's start off with minor hexes and jinxes. And remember what you did so that you can stop it should anything get through." Suggested Percy who rather enjoyed throwing spells at things until something happened.

A few minutes passed, and nothing happened. The spells were merely absorbed into the shield.

"Alright." Said Ginny, who was also having fun. "What say we up the ante slightly? Stunning, body binds, basically the second and third year Defence stuff we learnt." And so it was. Still Caitlin's shield merely absorbed the spells.

Mild curses came next. Then rather less mild curses, at which point, they decided that short of something especially nasty, in which case no-one could be positive, she was safe from spells.

Then trey tried fire. Impregnable.

Then they decided to see if Caitlin could cast a shield around other people as well. After a few attempts in which George (after all, reasoned Ginny, he had brought Caitlin home) was blasted around accidentally until she got the hang of it. It turned out that the shield worked in both directions – George couldn't shoot any spells through the shield at his siblings. He could, however, stun Caitlin, which he did, causing her shield to disappear and for him to be hit by two stunners, a body-bind curse and a bat-bogey hex courtesy of Ginny.

Once the ensuing mix-up had been fixed, Caitlin raised the point that her mother was bound to become concerned it she didn't return home. Before she left with George, Molly organised for her to return in a few days to let them know she was managing the whole magic thing. Meanwhile, Hermione ran upstairs and returned with numerous large books.

"These should explain most of your questions. Both my parents are muggles, so I knew absolutely nothing with regard to magic. This one," she said, indicating the largest and most loved tome, "is 'A History of Magic'. It should explain most things. Then," pulling out another book "there's 'Hogwarts – a History'. Hogwarts is the major magic school in Britain." She said in response to Caitlin's blank look. "These two gave me a really good foundation of background knowledge."

Caitlin merely nodded blankly and wondered how the hell she was going to manage to keep this from her mother.


	6. Chapter 6

As it turned out, she hadn't needed to worry. Caitlin had scarce walked through the front door when her mother, Justine, called "Caity, a word, if you would." from the kitchen. Mildly concerned by the tone her mother was using, Caitlin entered the kitchen to see her mother seated across the kitchen table from a well agèd woman wearing tortoiseshell glasses and dark blue robes, drinking tea.

"Caitlin, dear, when were you planning to tell me that you could do magic?" asked Justine, in a tone which expressed disappointment more than anything else.

"Probably never. Such admissions don't exactly scream sanity, do they?" Caitlin then realised just what her mother had said. "Wait a moment. How did you find out?"

"Imagine my surprise when I received a visit from Professor McGonagall here, who is the headmistress of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry, who told me that it had come to her attention that you had developed magical abilities and that she wished for you to attend Hogwarts for the rest of your schooling. Because once you hit eleven and nothing magical had shown up, I'd assumed nothing would."

"You knew there was a possibility I'd develop magic and you didn't think to tell me? How does that even happen?"

"Your aunt Melany went to Hogwarts, and as you yourself said, such admissions don't exactly scream sanity. How long has all this been going on?"

"Only about three weeks. It started after the last round of chemo."

"Go figure. Well do you want to give magic school a try?"

"Sure. Sounds fun. I've already met a whole family of witches and wizards." Her mother looked askance at that one. "It's a long story." Caitlin replied.

"Who, might I ask?" enquired the professor in a reasonably thick Scottish accent.

"The Weasleys. And Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and the minister for magic."

"Good heavens. You've had a baptism by fire. Well then, if you want to go to Hogwarts, you'll be starting once the Christmas break is over and you'll be in sixth year. You're going to need to go to Diagon Alley at some point to get yourself a school uniform, and we'll figure out subjects once we've worked out your abilities and such. I'll talk to Molly and she'll be in touch. It's been a pleasure meeting both of you, and Caitlin, I'll see you on the third." The headmistress took her leave, leaving Caitlin to stare at her mother, unimpressed.

"You didn't think it pertinent to say that your older sister is a witch?"

"It never came up in conversation." Replied Justine. "What did, however come up in conversation is that you somehow managed to meet a whole bunch of witches and wizards, and the minister for magic no less, in the course of one afternoon. I'm listening."

"Well I was visiting dad's grave and my beanie blew off and got completely soaked, so I was drying it and George, who's a wizard, saw me, and then things went from there."

Her mother looked rather unimpressed. "To start with, why was he there, and then let's progress to defining 'and then things went from there'."

"He was visiting his twin's grave, and the progression was me freaking out and involuntarily conjuring up great balls of fire. That was then followed by his realisation that I was absolutely clueless about the existence of magic, so he took me to meet his parents because they'd be better at explaining everything."

Caitlin's mother was pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to dispel a headache. "You were doing magic, out in the open, and then you were _surprised_ that someone saw you?" she clarified.

Realising that she had perhaps erred in her actions, Caitlin replied "Pretty much. Although when you put it that way…"

"I am so unspeakably unimpressed. That you'd be that careless… either way, it's all turned out for the best, because I've just gotten a promotion which means almost constant travel, which means you'd have to go to boarding school anyway. And being at a new school you probably won't be known as 'the cancer kid'."

"Thanks for taking all this so well, mum. Really. I was kind of worried you'd freak out a little." Caitlin gave her mum a hug and scampered off to her room to start reading. She'd been reading Bathilda Bagshot's 'A History of Magic' for about half an hour, marvelling at just how much she'd been missing, when the phone rang. She picked up the cordless phone she had in her room and pressed 'talk'.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Could I speak to Caitlin?" It sounded rather like George (being a bit of a music nerd, Caitlin had found she had a very good auditory memory).

"You're talking to her. Hi George. What's up?"

"We just had the most informative visit from professor McGonagall."

"Join the club. I got home and the first thing mum asked me was when I'd planned to tell her about the whole magic thing."

"That must have been awkward." Snorted George.

"You've no idea."

"Aaaanyway, apparently you're heading off to Hogwarts at the end of the holidays, and thus need things like uniform. The professor also wanted to see if you were able to do stuff with a wand. So we need to work out when you can go to London and get all the stuff you need."

"What with Christmas in five days we probably ought to go before everything closes until new year."

"Does tomorrow suit?"

"Yeah."

"I'll come by at around half seven. See you then."

Caitlin hung up and kept reading. She found utterly staggering the number of historical events (generally fiascos) which were the result of magic. Which made her start wondering about all the crazy stuff which had gone on over the course of the previous year. The people disappearing, or just dropping dead for no discernible reason, the seeming acts of terrorism which no-one claimed responsibility for… she made a mental note to ask about it.

Come the next morning, Caitlin looked at the half centimetre of stubble coating her head and received confirmation of what she'd suspected. Her hair, originally blonde, was growing back white. Muttering obscenities, most of which were centred around the fact that she was too young for such bullshit, she got ready for the day, deciding against the lurid pink beanie in favour of one in a slightly more conservative colour.

That having been said, it was in fact a Cookie Monster beanie, replete with googly eyes. It had been said (although generally not in her earshot) that she was compensating for her lack of hair with ridiculous beanies; although that's one for the psychiatric specialists to discuss.

Come half past seven, the doorbell rang. Justine answered the door, and was busy glaring at George (after all, what sane mother reacts favourably to her cancer patient daughter meeting attractive young men in graveyards) when Caitlin appeared, eliciting a snort from George and rolled eyes from her mother.

In an attempt to stop the death staring, Caitlin made introductions. Justine kept on glaring. She was not impressed by the fact that her little Caity was going off with some university student who was missing an ear. Eventually, Caitlin gave up and stepped outside with George.

He took her by the hand and said "Hold on and get ready for some mild discomfort."

Caitlin barely had time to raise an eyebrow in questioning before she experienced something quite similar to what she assumed going through a black hole would feel like (assuming that the black hole was in fact an Einstein-Rosen bridge). Instantaneous compression into a point of infinite density before reappearing elsewhere.

They popped back into existence in an alleyway in an older part of London. "That was so unbelievably cool!" breathed Caitlin as soon as she had reoriented herself.

"You took that remarkably well." remarked George, leading the way toward a rundown old pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron'. "Most people freak out the first time they apparate. Travel sickness abounds and so forth."

"It takes more than a little teleportation to make me barf." Replied Caitlin in a remarkably straightforward manner. "Although that completely changes my understanding of theoretical astrophysics."

George looked at her blankly.

"Black holes and the existence of Einstein-Rosen bridges, which essentially turn black holes into one directional wormholes."

George continued to look at her blankly.

"Is there any point explaining it?"

"Probably not." Admitted George.

Changing tack, Caitlin asked "What was all that yesterday regarding undesirable number one and all that? And also, was all the crazy stuff that went on last year the result of magic?"

George, completely evading the question asked "Do you have an endless supply of ridiculous hats?"

"I'm getting there. At the moment it's just fluorescents and the cast of Sesame Street, but I'm working towards an infinite stockpile. And now answer my question, if you would. And also, if it's not too forward, what happened to your ear? Because that wound's less than two years old."

"How on earth could you know that?"

"I spend a lot of time in hospitals. You get to have quite an affinity for guessing the age of injuries."

"My ear was blasted off during an ambush when we were trying to get Harry to safety. The readers digest version of that goes as follows: prophesy involving Harry and an evil wizard. Evil wizard tries to kill Harry, fails. Disappears for a while, reappears fourteen years later and starts reclaiming his old followers. Three years, and several attempts on Harry's life later, we're getting Harry to a safehouse and are ambushed. An off target curse was the end of my ear. Back to the chronology, soon after, the ministry falls to, for lack of a better term, the forces of darkness. Harry is declared 'undesirable number one' and was a reasonable bounty attached to his live capture. Now, this evil wizard was all about the 'purification' of the race – that is eradicating anyone who wasn't of wizarding blood, namely the muggleborns. The whole ethos was that magic was for the wizards, muggles were a lesser race blah blah blah. Had you developed magic a year earlier, you would have had every dark witch and wizard in the British isles after your head because you undermine their entire manifesto."

"That is so National Socialist." Responded Caitlin.

They had reached a brick wall, having walked through the pub and out a back entrance into another alleyway. George indicated a certain brick. "Touch that brick, would you?"

Somewhat confused by the request, Caitlin acquiesced regardless, and was incredibly surprised when the wall folded away into an archway revealing a hidden street which was just starting to come alive.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley." Said George. "Also, what's national socialism?"

Caitlin was dumbfounded. "You're kidding, right?"

George shook his head.

"You know, the Nazis."

More head shaking.

"World war two."

Still no comprehension.

"Have you been living under a rock your whole life? That was the darkest chapter of modern history. Are you seriously saying you've never heard of it?"

"I honestly haven't the foggiest what you're on about."

"Unbelievable." Muttered Caitlin. "I'm lending you some histories the moment I get home."

George unlocked the door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and invited Caitlin in. "You're going to have to stick around here for a while until the rest of the street opens."

Caitlin nodded, still having trouble processing the fact that he had actually never heard of world war two. It boggled the mind.

Once she'd had the opportunity to give the shop a cursory looking over, Caitlin asked "So did you set this store up on your own?"

"Me and Fred started the business in our seventh year, back then all we sold were skiving snack boxes." He indicated a prominent display. "School got to be a bit toxic, and so we left in a blaze of glory to take our goods to the public." He unconsciously rubbed his left forearm.

Just then the door to the shop opened and in came a redheaded man with concerning looking facial scarring who rather resembled George and an incredibly pretty blond woman.

"Caitlin, this is my brother, Bill, and his wife Fleur. Bill and Fleur, this is Caitlin. I assume Charlie gave you some background."

Caitlin, who was beginning to wonder just how extended the Weasley clan was, shook hands dutifully and started to become concerned that her reputation (whatever it was) was preceeding her. After kissing George on the cheek, Fleur took Caitlin by the hand and pulled her outside.

"How are you finding the extended family?" asked Fleur as they walked down the street.

"Entensive." Replied Caitlin. "Why the urge to talk outside?"

"I could see that Bill was just bursting to talk to George, in all likelihood regarding you. You're news. And I wanted to get to know you, because if I know anything about Molly, she's going to become the surrogate mother you never really needed, but still enjoy. Like it or not, you're part of the family now."

"She blames herself for Fred's death."

"Yes she does. Charlie never mentioned how perceptive you are."

"The hats tend to hide it. It's only in the course of in depth conversation that it comes out."

"That is a truly ridiculous hat." Laughed Fleur. "So what school supplies do you need to get? We may as well be productive."

"Just a uniform. And professor McGonagall wanted me to see if I could do anything with a wand."

"Let's do the wand first." Fleur said, leading Caitlin into a store called Ollivander's.

Inside, there were small boxes filling the shelves which covered every wall and filled every spare inch of space in the store. From behind one unit of shelving emerged a man in his late seventies. Upon seeing Fleur, his face lit up.

"Fleur, how nice to see you!" he enthused as Fleur kissed him on the cheek. "Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Caitlin. She developed magic a few weeks ago. Professor McGonagall wanted to see if she was able to use a wand."

"Interesting…" said the man whom Caitlin had inferred to be Mr Ollivander as he took a wand out of a box and handed it to her. "Give it a bit of a flick." He instructed.

Caitlin obliged. Nothing happened.

"Give this one a try." Another wand was presented. Again, nothing happened. "One last go." Another wand, and more nothing. Caitlin was in fact feeling rather relieved that nothing had happened – she found the whole business of brandishing a twig incredibly odd.

"That was a bit of an anticlimax." She noted.

"I suppose." Responded Mr Ollivander. "Would you be able to show me some of what you can do?"

Caitlin, who was becoming quite accustomed to performing party tricks, took the dust from the top of the shelves and used it to create a rabbit. **A/N: Dust bunny. Get it?** Mr Ollivander was rather impressed. Fleur was swearing quietly in French.

After everyone got over the initial shock, goodbyes were said, and Caitlin and Fleur continued onto Gringotts bank. Caitlin was rather surprised when she saw the goblins who ran the bank, but was by now so accustomed to craziness that she just shrugged and got on with exchanging her money for wizarding currency.

As they left the bank and headed towards a store called 'Madam Malkins'', Caitlin asked why wizarding currency wasn't decimal.

"I have no idea." Responded Fleur. "Some countries don't even use it any more. Everywhere in Europe people just use the euro in wizarding shops. It makes everything so much easier."

Upon entering Madam Malkins', more introductions were made, and Caitlin purchased a school uniform which was remarkably normal (skirt, blouse, stockings), but for the robes which went over them. They seemed to her a bit of an OH&S risk, but apparently it was tradition, so she was willing to let it slide.

Upon the completion of uniform purchase, Caitlin and Fleur returned to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which was yet to open, and found Bill and George staring at a coffee machine.

"It's not working." Responded Bill when Fleur asked him why he was staring at it.

"Have you tried fixing it?" asked Fleur, raising her wand.

"Yes." Replied both Bill and George, with a look on their faces which just screamed 'duhh'.

Meanwhile, Caitlin picked up a screwdriver and advanced upon the erstwhile appliance. "I take it they don't teach electronics at Hogwarts." She remarked. She was correct.

After a minute of rummaging around in the wiring, she located the blown fuse and fixed it.

"They teach you that at muggle school?" asked George, somewhat awed.

"It's electrophysics. O level stuff." She plugged it in, and lo, the machine did function anew. "You learn basic wiring systems and things like that."

While the coffee maker did its thing, George opened the shop, and it was more or less immediately filled with school age teens. Caitlin soon discerned that George was something of a Hogwarts legend. She stuck near Fleur, practising her French by asking explanation for every abnormal occurrence, of which there were numerous. And knitting. She needed to finish the cardigan she was giving her mother for Christmas.


	7. Chapter 7

At the end of what had been an incredibly informative day, George and Caitlin apparated back to her house, and goodbyes were said until the recommencement of school.

Inside, Caitlin's somewhat quirky aunt Melany was talking with Justine.

"Hey mum, aunt Mel."

"Hi Caitlin." They called in reply as Caitlin dumped her stuff in her room and came back downstairs to talk.

"Your mum told me that you developed magic." Began Melany, reaching under the table. "So I got you an owl so that you can keep in touch with her while you're at Hogwarts." She passed over a cage with a completely black owl in it. "This is Sparky."

"You got me an owl! Oh my god! Thankyou!"

"Consider her an early Christmas present."

"Sweet! What do I need to feed her?"

"She's pretty self sufficient. Just let her out at night and she'll do her thing."

After a bit more squeeing, Sparky was deposited in Caitlin's room, and Caitlin headed out once more in search of a substance which was to become her identifier…

On the third of January, Caitlin said goodbye to her mother, dragged her trunk out of the car boot and put it on a luggage trolley with Sparky on top in her cage, and went in the general direction of all the other school age children with owls.

Before too long, she was spotted by George. An unsurprising occurrence, since her hair was now a bright electric blue.

"You made it." He said, staring at her hair.

"Not entirely. This whole platform nine and three quarters thing has kind of thrown me."

"That's understandable. The gateway to the platform is actually the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Follow me." George then took her hand and pulled her through the wall and onto another platform.

"That was SO COOL!" breathed Caitlin.

"That's only the beginning of it." He said. "Come on. I'll show you where the others are." He led her to a compartment wherein Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were… looking conspicuously innocent.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows, and George shrugged apologetically. Caitlin stored Sparky next to a ludicrously small (and disproportionately enthusiastic) owl and then stepped outside the compartment.

"You have got to be kidding me. Are they always like that?"

"Ron and Hermione aren't as bad, mainly because Hermione is kind of the bastion of propriety around here. But yeah." The whistle blew. "I've got to go, but write if you've got any questions or anything. Good luck." He hugged her and then jumped off the train, leaving her to wave as it pulled out of the station.

Caitlin then looked around, completely lost. Luckily, at that moment she saw a tall dark haired boy about to open the door to the compartment she'd just been in.

"You don't want to go in there." Caitlin told him, causing him to jump slightly upon hearing her voice, and again upon seeing her hair.

"You mean they're still all…" the boy grimaced.

"Oh yeah. I've spent probably an hour or so with them, cumulatively, and it's already nauseating."

"I'm Neville." Said the boy, extending an arm. "What say we find another compartment?"

"I'm Caitlin." Caitlin replied, taking the proffered limb.

"So why haven't I seen you around Hogwarts? I would have remembered your hair."

"This is my first term at Hogwarts. I've only been able to do magic for a couple of weeks."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It was a side effect of chemotherapy."

"Shit. You're coping pretty well in that case."

"I'm running on luck." Responded Caitlin. "That compartment's empty." She pointed to a compartment ahead of them. They seated themselves, and Caitlin pulled out some more knitting (a set of baby clothes for Melany's child to be). "Are you the head boy?" she asked, pointing a knitting needle at a badge with the Hogwarts crest and the letters HB on it.

"That I am." He replied with a little bow. "What year are you going into?"

"Sixth. I'm just a bit worried I'm not going to know any of the background to the stuff we're being taught."

"You'll be fine. Professor McGonagall wouldn't have given you a place if she wasn't under the impression that you'd manage."

"That's easy for you to say. You've been studying magic since you were eleven. I don't think things like physics or modern history or languages are going to come in handy much."

"Can you at least do basic magic?"

"Define basic."

"Levitating, transfiguring, that kind of thing."

In response, Caitlin let go of the knitting needles, and made them continue knitting of their own accord.

"You didn't say you did wandless magic." Remarked Neville, somewhat gobsmacked. Caitlin shrugged and kept on knitting. "So do you know which house you're going to be in?" he asked.

"No idea. Professor McGonagall said I'd be sorted once I arrived. What does that entail?"

"Basically, they slice you open with a ceremonial dagger and inspect your entrails. Then they–" he was silenced by Caitlin throwing a ball of wool at him. "Just kidding. They stick an old hat on your head – the sorting hat – and then it decides which house you belong in."

"A hat. That seems a bit… low tech."

"What were you expecting? A troupe of druids standing around you, chanting?"

"To be entirely honest, yeah. And a bit of the whole slicing open and examining entrails thing."

Neville threw the ball back at her. "Sorry to disappoint. You do realise that these days, we regard the whole entrails business as being rather barbaric."

"These days? So it was ok at some point?"

"We tend not to discuss what went on in the sixties." Responded Neville, completely seriously.

"You're kidding… right?" Caitlin was a touch concerned.

Neville didn't respond for a while, and the question was answered by a girl who appeared in the doorway. "He's joking. All the really fruity shit went on in the seventies."

"Now I just don't know who's being serious and when." Said Caitlin, slightly apprehensive as to what she'd gotten herself into.

"Neither of us. Caitlin, this is Susan Bones, head girl. Susan, this is —"

"Caitlin West. She's new. I know. As, incidentally, would you had you attended the prefects meeting at the start of the trip. Which is why I'm here – we need to patrol the corridors and prevent explosions."

"Sorry to leave you Caitlin, but duty calls. I can introduce you to some people if you'd like."

"Thanks, but I'll figure it out. Have fun."

With a wave, they disappeared into the next carriage. After a moment's consideration, Caitlin headed out to find some new people to talk to. What with the hair and the new student status, it wasn't that difficult to get a conversation going. She was barely into the next carriage when she saw a blond boy in a compartment on his own, with the door blocked by some kind of magic barrier. Which as it turned out, she could see as a lightly shimmering sheet of blue light, rather similar to her shields (which no-one else could see, but which she saw as violet). With a moment's focus, she made a hole in the barrier which closed behind her as she stepped through. "Is this seat taken?" she asked, sitting down.

The boy shook his head, still looking out the window, before turning to face Caitlin and raising an eyebrow. "How did you even notice this compartment was here? I shielded it so that no-one would even register that it was there."

"I saw your shields. They were blue. I guess I just have a different skill set when it comes to magic."

"You must be that new girl the rumours are about. Apparently you specialise in wandless."

"For the last month, I suppose. I'm Caitlin." She extended a hand.

"Draco." He shook it. "So you're telling me you just saw through my magic into the compartment. And I can't help but notice that it didn't exactly stop you getting in."

"I saw the shields as kind of a wall of blue light, for lack of a better explanation. From then it was just a matter of assuring it that I wasn't a threat, and then using my own magic to open a portal for me."

This was news to Draco. "You're saying that you convinced my wards that you weren't a threat and that they just let you through after that?"

"People don't seem to realise that any magic they do is an extension of their mind taking the form of energy. So yes, I had to convince your wards that I wasn't a threat, thus in effect convincing you subconsciously that I wasn't a threat, at which point the way was open for me to get through them."

"And you saw them? How does that work?"

"Magic is just a change forced onto the universe. I can see those changes as they take place as a kind of coloured light which is different for each person. As far as I've noticed, people's magical energy tends to manifest itself as light the same colour as their eyes. Unless of course the spell being done results in a ray of coloured light coming out of their wand, in which case that form of energy is the only one I can see."

"So I'm assuming your magic is purple, going off your eyes."

"Except for when I conjure fire. That always tends to be the colour of the sky at the time. I don't know why, I suppose that's just how it is."

"A month, and you're already that self aware. That's insane."

"Like I said, I just have a different skill set." Of course, at that exact moment, Caitlin's specific skill set were going haywire. Every nerve in her body was telling her that something was wrong and she was beginning to feel dizzy. "Speaking of, I'm feeling absolutely atrocious at the moment, and I think it's because I'm not used to being enclosed by someone else's magic. I'm so sorry, but I feel like I'm about to pass out."

"It's no problem." Draco pulled out his wand and muttered 'finite incantatem'. Caitlin, being fluent in Latin, could work out what that meant. Lo, the moment the shields were gone, she felt fine. "Is that better?" asked Draco.

"Completely. Thanks. Although I'm curious, why had you bothered in the first place?"

He seemed to weigh up his options for a moment. "How much do you know about the second wizarding war?" he asked.

"Evil wizard, lots of national socialism, much fatalities, everything ends well apart from the mountains of dead."

"That's one way of putting it, although before I continue, what's national socialism?"

"World War II. The Nazis. Worst chapter in modern history. Don't worry, you've never heard of it."

"Apparently not. Anyway, the 'evil wizard' as you so aptly put it, had a group of followers. When things started to get bad, he started press ganging people into joining him. In my case, it was go along with him or he'd torture my mother to death. It wasn't a completely random choice, since my father was one of the original group, but I still didn't have any other options. I did my best to make sure nothing happened that I could have prevented, but I was just a small part of a very large entity. I was acquitted of all war crimes, especially after all the torture at the hands of my insane aunt was taken into account, but there are still a hell of a lot of people who believe I shouldn't be back here finishing off my final year."

Caitlin was lost for words. "Your mother?"

"She's fine. She always was the tough one out of my parents, which probably explains why he killed himself in custody and she just got on with life."

"God that's bleak."

"You've no idea. Although now that you have the back story we're saving a hell of a lot of awkwardness later on."

"No shit. Also, why do you keep rubbing your left forearm? I'm assuming it's psychosomatic."

"Psychosomatic?"

"A physical response brought on by emotions."

"In that case yes." He pushed up his sleeve. "This is the Dark Mark which was tattooed onto my arm the night I was forced to join. Not an ideal marker, given the fact that more or less everyone is under the impression that anyone with the Mark was automatically a willing collaborator. But on a cheerier topic, what's National Socialism?"

"It's hardly a cheerier topic, but whatever." Began Caitlin. What followed was an exceedingly lengthy overview of the politico-economic forces which converged to result in the Nazi regime and then later World War II. It would have taken less time had Draco possessed any modicum of background knowledge of muggle history. Which he didn't.

Perhaps an hour and a half into this crash course in modern history, Neville and Susan appeared.

"Hullo again Caitlin. Draco." Neville nodded towards him.

"How's it all going?" enquired Susan.

"I'm explaining the Gottdammerung phase of the Nazi regime and what it meant for the peoples of eastern Europe, as well as further afield, with cross references to the Japanese occupation of the pacific, but I don't know why I'm bothering to explain, because you clearly have no idea whatsoever as to what I'm talking about." The flow from initial explanation to giving up was seamless.

Both Neville and Susan shook their heads.

"What is it with you guys and not knowing anything whatsoever about muggles?" asked Caitlin.

"Muggle studies is a class." Defended Neville.

"Well in that case your teacher is clearly rubbish. This was probably THE defining incident of the last century."

"Was rubbish." Corrected Susan. "The war."

"Being dead doesn't excuse being a rubbish teacher." Said Caitlin, completely serious.

"Especially when you consider the fact that Professor Binns actually is dead and a rubbish teacher." Pointed out Draco.

"Hold on. You have undead teachers? That's not a biohazard or anything?" Caitlin was thinking in terms of standard OH&S.

"He's a ghost, so technically he's not undead. He's just a really animated remnant of a person." Neville elucidated.

"I'm not even going to ask. I take it there's all kinds of crazy stuff like that at Hogwarts." Caitlin was starting to realise that if she just smiled and nodded and pretended that she knew what was going on, she'd manage alright.

"You've no idea." Laughed Susan.

"Say, Neville. You're supposed to be preventing fires and the like, aren't you?" enquired Caitlin, with an impressively executed change of tack.

"Dare I ask why?"

"Two compartments toward the front of the train. Short chain hydrocarbon fuel source, magical ignition. You probably ought to put a stop to it."

They went off to do just that. Caitlin turned back to Draco. "Where was I?"

"Gottdammerung."

"Right. That's when things really started to get fruity. And by fruity, I actually mean incredibly and unbelievably illegal."

Caitlin rather enjoyed history.


	8. Chapter 8

**It has come to my attention that I've been misspelling the word 'Quidditch'. Awfully sorry.**

Caitlin was barely off the train when she saw the carriages which were to transport the students to the castle. And more importantly what they were drawn by. These horses looked like the animals which the four horsemen of the apocalypse rode about on. Because if there were ever animals which looked like war, famine, pestilence and death all rolled into one, it was those giant bat-horse things.

"What in the name of all that is flammable are those?" asked Caitlin after a moment or two of horrified silence.

"Those are the Thestrals." Said Neville, stroking one. "You can only see them if you've watched someone die."

"Good god that's cheery." Remarked Caitlin, who was feeling a bit of an idiot wearing her new robes. Admittedly everyone else was wearing robes, but in the grand scheme of school uniforms a blazer seemed much more practical.

"Isn't it just." Agreed Neville. "Now come on. We need to get you sorted into a house before everyone else gets here."

Caitlin followed him into a carriage which immediately moved off in the direction of the castle, giving her a view of the grounds and lake. And what an impressive view it was.

Soon enough they were at the entrance to the castle, and after most gallantly helping her out of the carriage (as it turned out, there was an art to getting out of a carriage whilst wearing a skirt), Neville led the way up several flights of steps and around some marvellously twisty corridors and was in the midst of a conversation with a talking gargoyle (after the moving paintings, Caitlin had decided to just go with the flow) when the wall behind it swung inwards to reveal professor McGonagall carrying an old ratty looking hat.

"Mr Longbottom, what took you so long?" she asked.

"The gargoyle doesn't like me." he replied.

The professor raised an eyebrow infinitesimally before turning to Caitlin. "Good to see you again, miss West."

"You too, professor." She replied.

"We may as well sort you." professor McGonagall placed the hat on Caitlin's head, at which point it began to speak to her in her mind.

_My, my. I've never seen anyone like you before. This is all just too interesting._

_Holy shit. A talking hat._

_Surely they warned you._

_There mere mentions of a talking hat, in and amongst a lot of mentions of disembowelment and chanting druids. At a certain point I didn't know what to believe. Anyway, oughtn't you be sorting me or something?_

_I suppose, but I haven't been on the head of someone over the age of eleven WITHOUT them being in some kind of mortal peril in CENTURIES. And let's be honest, even young Neville here isn't that fun to be inside the mind of when he's in a fight to the death. You are interesting._

_Delightful. How old are you anyway?_

_Very. I've been around for longer than that bastardised language you use has existed. I remember the days when people spoke Celtic. That was a fluid tongue. Even in their minds, the words flowed like water. Oh well. I may as well get on with the sorting. I can see the good headmistress is starting to look peeved. Let's see... You're a clever boots. There's no doubting that, but you're also a schemer. You're brave, but I cannot get over how much of a clever boots you are. And yes, I do appreciate the fact that you're thinking in Latin. I suppose you'd be best off in _

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat cried, which I took as a cue to take it off.

"There you go. I'm a Gryffindor, so I won't be able to show you the ropes, but I'll hand you over to a friend of mine, and she'll make sure nothing bad happens to you." Said Neville, leading Caitlin back through the maze of corridors and stairways. After a few moments, Neville mused "Well that was interesting."

"How so?" enquired Caitlin.

"I always thought the sorting hat only yelled out the house names in order to be heard throughout the great hall. But it turns out it yells just for the fun of it."

"Give it a break. The only times it's ever on the head of someone old enough to give it a decent conversation, that person always seems to be in mortal peril."

"How on earth could you know that?"

"The hat told me. Apparently I'm the first decent conversation it's had in ages."

"That's one for the CV."

"Isn't it just." Agreed Caitlin as they entered the great hall, which was filled with students (although not that many, probably a bit under three hundred) and decked with banners depicting houses which hung above each table.

"That table over there is Slytherin." Indicated Neville. "Kind of like a knife gang in the fact that they take care of their own. And the fact that most of them have concealed weapons. Then there's Hufflepuff." He indicated a table overhung with gold and black. "Decent bunch, the lot of them, although they're violent psychopaths when it comes to Quidditch."

"What's Quidditch?" asked Caitlin, who received in response a look which allowed her to realise what her 'I can't believe you've never heard of world war two' looks looked like.

"I'll explain later." Said Neville. "Then we have Gryffindor. I'm a bit biased, being one myself, so I'm obviously going to say they're the best bunch of people in the school. Then we have Ravenclaw, where you're headed. They're generally perceived to be the nerds of the school, but they're the ones who are always the least stressed come exams, and if you're ever in the astronomy section of the library, they're the ones seeing how many books they can balance on their heads without breaking a toe." He led her to a gap on one of the benches hung with navy blue and bronze, next to a blonde girl who seemed to be slightly off with the pixies. "Hullo Neville." She said, giving him a hug. "You don't have nearly as many nargles around you as last year."

Caitlin was well past being able to differentiate between what was weird and what wasn't any more, so she smiled brightly.

"Luna, this is Caitlin West. She's a new student in your year. Caitlin, this is Luna Lovegood. She'll be making sure nothing untoward happens to you and you don't get lost." At that, Neville whispered 'if you have any problems, come find me' and went off to the Gryffindor table.

Luna looked off into the distance for a moment before sitting dowm as professor McGonagall walked in. Caitlin did likewise. The professor stood to address the assembled student body. "It is good to see all of you back for another term here at Hogwarts. Classes will recommence on Monday, enjoy." And with that, food appeared instantaneously on the tables. Caitlin shrugged. She was sure she'd find out how that happened. Eventually.

Luna glanced around, collecting everyone's attention. Caitlin was impressed. For someone who seemed so out of it, Luna had the air of a leader about her. "Everyone, this is Caitlin West. She's new. Caitlin, these are Amelia Cooper," a short redhead with really long hair whose whole image screamed I'M WELSH, "and Isabel Goldstein." A girl roughly Caitlin's height with a black bob and rectangular glasses who gave a cheery smile. "We're all going to be in the same dorm. Amelia sings, Isy plays Quidditch and I like to have butterflies fluttering around the dorm whenever possible, so I'm sure we'll all get along fine." Luna smiled and began to eat.

"You're that no wand girl, aren't you?" asked Amelia, who was, as Caitlin had assumed, Welsh.

"Indeed I am." Replied Caitlin, becoming used to the fact that her reputation preceeded her. "If you don't mind me asking, what's Quidditch?"

Caitlin was suddenly faced with stares which allowed her to realise what her 'I can't believe you've never heard of the second world war' looks were like on the receiving end.

"I only developed magic about a month ago." She protested. "I'm new to all this."

"A month?" asked Isabel.

"It was a surprise side effect of chemotherapy. Which is why my hair's so short."

"Is that why it's blue?" asked Luna, genuinely curious.

Caitlin smiled. "That's hair dye. My hair went white, so I decided to change it up a bit."

"Oh." Said Luna thoughtfully. "It suits you."

"Thanks…"

"Sorry, but back to the fact that you don't know what Quidditch is." Said a person who looked like an older male version of Isabel. "Anthony Goldstein." He said, offering a hand, which Caitlin duly shook. Well that explained why he looked so much like Isabel. They were in all likelihood related. Statistically of course there was the possbibility that they weren't, but in a school of less than 300 students, Caitlin was willing to bet that it wasn't coincidence. "Quidditch captain for Ravenclaw." He spoke with a crisp accent which could only have come from an exclusive public school. Eton in all likelihood. He carried himself like an Etonian. "Quidditch is a sport played on broomsticks. There are two teams of seven and four balls. Within each team there are four positions. The three Chasers work to get the Quaffle, a red leather ball roughly the size of a soccerball, through one of the three hoops at the end of the pitch protected by the opposition's Keeper. The Keeper's job is merely to prevent the opposition scoring. Any goals are worth 10 points. Meanwhile, there are two Beaters, whose job it is to use their bats to prevent the Bludgers, charmed spheres of iron which fly around attempting to mutilate players, from mutilating their team members, and to attempt to cause them to mutilate the opposing team. Finally, there's the Seeker, who flies around attempting to stay unmutilated, looking for the Golden Snitch, a walnut sized ball with wings which flutters around the pitch evading capture. Capturing the Snitch ends the game and is worth 150 points. There's an inter-house competition here which rather hard fought. It hasn't started yet this year because the headmistress is giving the captains time to train their new teams. There were a lot of casualties at the end of last year. Anyway, I'm captain, as I said, as well as one of the beaters. The other beater is Yvonne Richardson over there." He indicated a tall blonde girl at the end of the table, sho responded with a nod. "Cynthia Chen is our seeker," he continued, pointing at an asian girl who looked remarkably like a porcelain doll. "She's a veritable ninja. Isy's our keeper, and Jeorg Eriksen" a very tall, very Scandinavian looking boy who couldn't have been older than fourteen "is a chaser, along with Ilse, his twin sister." Also very tall and also very Scandinavian looking. We had a third chaser up until a week before break, but then Reginald though it would be a good idea to take a bludger to the head and be banned from plying for safety reasons. Didn't you Reg?" he turned to address a boy sitting across from him.

"Sorry, Anth." He responded. "Although might I point out that it was your job to make sure I 'stayed unmutilated'."

"Silence, infidel!" responded Anthony, not losing any steam. "I'm holding try-outs tomorrow afternoon to replace Mr Cranial Damage over here. You should come and take a look."

"Sounds fun." Replied Caitlin. "Also, out of curiosity, were you an Etonian?"

He seemed surprised. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I met a few working on a musical with one of the Old Girls of my school. You all just seem to have a certain air about you."

Eventually the feast ended, and everyone stood to go to their dorms.

"Lost?" enquired Luna, Isabel and Amelia upon seeing Caitlin's blank look the moment she stood.

"Rather." She replied. "They don't happen to provide new students with maps of the campus, do they?"

They giggled as they led her through the winding hallways, up shifting staircases and past a hell of a lot of moving paintings. "They'd never be able to. There are parts of this school no-one's ever found. Parts that change according to whim." They were finishing off each other's statements in the manner that comes to people who have been together long enough to understand each other's thought processes. "Parts that don't exist." They continued, catching Caitlin before she fell through one of the trick steps on one of the staircases heading to Ravenclaw tower. "You'll work out how to get places in about a month; until then, just follow the other people in your classes."

All of a sudden, Caitlin jumped and let forth a burst of obscenities. Luna didn't even look up. "Also, there are some resident ghosts. Myrtle, for example, who haunts the second floor girl's bathroom is lovely company, as long as you're nice to her."

They reached a gargoyle in the wall.

"I am not in love, but can be found in friends;

I'm the middle of middle and the end of end.

What am I?"

That's right. Not only did it speak, it spoke in riddles.

"The letter D." answered Caitlin, to a smattering of 'nice work, new girl'.

"The gargoyle asks a riddle each time you want to enter. If you don't know the answer, you have to wait until someone who does comes along." Said Isabel.

"It's to help 'expand our minds'." Said Amelia, rolling her eyes.

They entered a room bedecked in shades of blue with accents of bronze. Altogether a nice colour scheme.

"Welcome to the common room." Said Anthony, who had appeared out of nowhere. "Girls dorms are up that staircase, you're in sixth year so you'd be on the sixth floor. See you tomorrow."

Isabel swatted him to no avail, and the girls made their way to their dorm. "You're over there." Indicated Isabel, pointing to a bed at the foot of which sat Caitlin's trunk. You're next to Amelia, who's next to Luna, who's next to me. And now, since it's nearly midnight, I need to get some sleep before tomorrow. Anthony is so bent on proving that my selection wasn't nepotism that training's twice as brutal for me. And the coffee here is crap. Just warning you. If you need a caffeine hit – drink lots of tea."

"Noted." Remarked Caitlin as she grabbed her toothbrush and face wash and headed for the bathroom, wondering if she would ever stop living in a perpetual state of mind-fuck. She doubted it.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Caitlin awoke at half past six. This was because she was used to waking up at five for swim training, and thus what seemed to most as ungodly early, was in fact a pleasant lie in by her standards. Either way, she was determined to (in the absence of a practice partner) throw a ball against a wall for a few hours to keep her lacrosse skills sharp.

Caitlin threw on a pair of the leggings she used for sport, contemplated the weather for a moment, remembered there was still snow on the ground, and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt before putting on her runners and grabbing her lacrosse stick-bag. There was bound to be a flat wall with which she could practice. After all, she was in a mediaeval castle. Skipping off down the stairs, she realised that she had no idea whatsoever as to how she was meant to get to the great hall.

All she knew was that it was in a downwards direction. Slinging the strap of her stick bag over her chest (after watching an unfortunate accident, she had learned that one never went down a flight of stairs with one's stick-bag on one's back), she ventured off in a downwards direction. Eventually she made it to the hall, where she saw that the only other students awake were seven people sitting at the Gryffindor table. One of them waved her over.

"You're up early." Remarked Neville.

"Are you kidding? Back home I would wake up at five in order to be ready for swim training at half past. This is a pleasantly late wake-up for me." Caitlin responded, sitting down next to him and grabbing some toast. "Say," she continued, "there wouldn't be a pool around here, would there?"

Ginny laughed. "No. There wouldn't. Or at least no-one's found one."

"Yet." Muttered Neville. "Say, I don't think you've met the Gryffindor Quidditch team. There's Harry, our captain and seeker; Dean Thomas," he indicated an imposing looking boy for African descent who seemed to radiate the vibe of 'yes ladies, there IS enough of me to go around', "who is one of the beaters along with myself; Ron, our keeper; and our chasers, Ginny, whom you know; Owen Griffiths, who is Welsh" Owen, a lanky boy with curly dark hair made a rude gesture at Neville, "and Adele Lucas, who despite hailing from Essex is actually a lovely person."

Adele rolled her eyes and said 'Oh come off it!' in a manner which made it painfully clear just how much she was indeed from Essex. Which was extensively. Adele herself had golden brown hair which she had twisted into a messy bun, giant eyes, and curves which could only be described as ghetto-fabulous. She also wore a lot of black.

They ate their respective breakfasts quickly and headed out to the Quidditch pitch. Caitlin, after admiring its prettiness and bigness, found a flat stretch of the support wall on the outside (Neville had mentioned that after it had been burnt down the previous year, it had been rebuilt in a slightly less flammable manner. Hence it being stone), and set to work, throwing the ball against the wall with her stick as if passing, and then catching it again. Every so often she would miss, at which point she would sprint after the runaway ball, swearing fruitily.

After about an hour and a half, by which time she was working with her left hand instead (one never knows when being a southpaw will come in handy, and it's always best to be prepared), when she missed a ball, and having turned to sprint after it, she collided with a tall and rather firm figure.

"Shit." She muttered. "Sorry." She squinted into the glare (tall firm person was standing right in the sun, which was being all reflecty and bright).

"It's my fault." Said tall firm person, who seemed to be Scottish. "My mother always told me not to stand too close to girls with strange weapons."

"It's a lacrosse stick." Elucidated Caitlin. "It's not a weapon unless I'm in the middle of a game." She smiled in her cutesy 'don't question me, I'm adorable' manner until she realised a moment later that having died her hair electric blue there was no way in hell that that shit was going to fly any more.

"I'll take your word for it." Said tall, firm and Scottish, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't say I've seen you before, and with your hair I'm sure I would have remembered it. Are you new?"

"Caitlin West." She said, offering a hand, which was shaken. "I'm the 'no-wand kid'." She made inverted commas as best she could with a four foot carbon-fibre stick in one hand.

"Oooooh!" said tall, firm and Scottish with an air of sudden understanding. "Oliver Wood, Quidditch master. I hear you've been sorted into Ravenclaw."

Caitlin nodded.

"Have you thought of giving Quidditch a try? Anthony's holding try-outs and you look like you could hold your own."

Caitlin grinned. "But for the fact that Quidditch is a sport played on flying broomsticks… and I've never been on one… ever. Nor do I have access to one for to rectify the situation."

"And that, my wee skeptic," he said, summoning her lost ball with a flick of his wand and handing it to her, "is why Hogwarts is in possession of a large collection of communal broomsticks. So that the new students can discover whether or not they have any hidden talents."

He waited while Caitlin packed everything back into her stick-bag and then led her to what looked to be an oversized shed. Oliver opened the shed, revealing it to be full of what looked to be aerodynamic brooms. Caitlin's mind returned to the familiar land of mindfuck. Oliver looked over the selection, then looked Caitlin up and down before handing her a broom.

"A Silver Arrow 1066. Good speed and the best manoeuvrability you'll find anywhere." Oliver selected a broom for himself and then walked outside and placed it on the ground, indicating that Caitlin ought to do the same. Once she had, he began instructing.

"Place your hand over the broom, concentrate on it, and then say 'up'." At his command, the broom he was standing next to flew into his hand. "Give it a go."

Caitlin took a deep breath, told her dignity to take a hike – the possibility of flying was worth the risk of looking like an idiot if the broom wouldn't behave – and said 'up'. The broom thunked into her hand with the same reassuring weight of her lacrosse stick. She grinned.

"Now, you get onto the broom," she got on the broom, "and kick off." Caitlin kicked off, and experienced the same sensation that comes from being on an elevator going swiftly upwards. That was because she was flying. She took a moment to squeal like a fangirl. She somehow got the gist that brooms worked using the concept of gyroscopics, and leaned to the side to test out her theory. She was right. After a minute or so of flying around in loops, climbing and diving, Oliver flew up to her. "Fun, isn't it." He said. "Now let's see your ball-handling skills." Caitlin raised her eyebrows at that turn of phrase. "Oh grow up." Said Oliver, before heading for the ground and indicating she should follow.

They walked back into the storage shed and came out with a rectangular wooden box, which was shaking of its own accord in a manner most disconcerting. "Why is it doing that?" asked Caitlin as they set it down.

"Do you know what a bludger is?" asked Oliver.

"A ball of metal which flies around trying to mutilate players." Answered Caitlin.

"Well it'd be the bludgers that are doing that. But we, of course, are here to work with a Quaffle." He opened the crate, revealing a red ball with four evenly spaced indentations on it (Caitlin immediately and inexplicably thought of a carbon atom) as well as two metal balls which were held in with chains, but were yet trying to escape. Oliver removed the Quaffle and tossed it to her. Having played extensive waterpolo in her time, Caitlin caught it easily and began tossing it from hand to hand, seeing if its indentations messed with the aerodynamics. They didn't. Apart from the fact that it fell as if sinking through a substance less dense than that filling it (A/N), it was like an oversized waterpolo ball.

"You seem to be figuring it out alright." Noted Oliver. "How far can you throw?"

Caitlin tossed the ball into the air experimentally. "Stay there." She instructed, turning and jogging about 30 metres away with the Quaffle. She then turned, and threw what was the equivalent to a shot for goal in Waterpolo – fast, hard and with a bit of spin just to mess with the goalie. If easily went the distance to Oliver who caught it as Caitlin ran back.

"Where'd you learn to throw like that?" asked Oliver, impressed by the diminutive muggle girl.

"Waterpolo." She replied.

"Let me get this straight. You can throw like that… while swimming."

"Yeah. I'd never have to throw that far because the pool's 30 metres long at most. And the risk of interception at that kind of distance is insane. But in theory, yeah."

"Un. Believable. Muggle schools must be something else entirely. Want to give it a go on a broom?"

Caitlin mounted up. "You never went to a muggle school?"

"There are prep schools for the students of witches and wizards. They're basically just feeder schools for the magical high schools. I went to one such prep." He tossed her the ball, and they threw passes at each other for a while until Oliver was confident that Caitlin was proficient with a Quaffle on a broom. He indicated that they should make their way back to the ground. "You, my dear," said Oliver as he picked up one end of the crate and Caitlin took the other, "are a natural born Quidditch player. I am honestly at a loss as to how you picked that up so quickly having never been on a broom before in your life. Now I'm off to take a look at how Harry's team are shaping up, but once that's done, we should be able to use the other goal hoops to give you a little practice actually shooting against a keeper."

"Thanks, really." Said Caitlin. "But why are you giving me all this help?"

"Honestly?" Oliver squinted at her for a moment. "Because I spend the majority of my time teaching eleven and twelve year olds how to fly, when it is painfully obvious that if they had any aptitude for it, it would have shown up long ago. But of course, flying is a compulsory class for the first two years, so when I'm not talking down petrified first years, I'm writing incident reports for when the second years injure themselves. By the time I get students in third year and above, who chose the subject of their own free will, they don't need teaching any more, so I'm just their babysitter so to speak. It's nice to get a beginner who's old enough to actually…" he seemed to be searching for the correct word.

"Learn?" prompted Caitlin.

"Exactly. Learn. Also, your hair's an entertaining colour."

"That was my aim when I dyed it." She admitted. "White just didn't suit me."

"White?" asked Oliver, eyebrows raised.

"Chemotherapy. First it fell out, then it grew back white. Hence my eyebrows also being blue. I thought I'd go for some continuity."

"You wanted continuity, so you dyed your eyebrows blue… to match your hair…"

"It made more sense than having blue hair and white eyebrows." Pointed out Caitlin, the epitome of logic.

They stowed the crate of balls, and Caitlin, reluctant to do something drastic like try shrinking her sticks to be secreted on her person, levitated them into the stands, separate from the people watching the practice underway. It seemed that with nothing better to do, people went to the Quidditch pitch to socialise, judging by the hundred or so people sitting in clumps in the stands. She then stood with her broom whilst Harry flew down to talk to Oliver.

"Oliver! Good to see you." Said Harry, giving Oliver a hug. Caitlin was struck by the fact that such an act ought to be a breach of protocol, but for the fact that perhaps when a staff member looked to be in their early twenties and seemed to be on a first name basis with the students, protocol was different. She resolved to ask George in the letter she planned to write that evening. So much mindfuck, and so little time to write it all down and ask for explanations.

"You too, Harry. I've come to see how the team's shaping up, and then would you be alright with me making use of the goalposts you're not using? I've been teaching wee Caitlin over here how to play Quidditch."

"Of course. Would it be alright if I got the other chasers to also have a go at you so that they can practice on someone who isn't on their team."

"Sure thing, mate. Anything to get Gryffindor closer to the Quidditch Cup." He clapped Harry, who immediately after rejoined his team in the air, on the back and then turned to Caitlin. "Head over to the goalposts over there, and stay on the ground for now, unless a bludger starts coming at you, in which case fly like hell to avoid it."

"Are they really that bad? Surely there are safeguards." Caitlin's brain was still operating in the OH&S ruled world of muggle sports.

Oliver snorted. "Two minutes into my first game, I was hit in the head by a bludger, and I woke up a week later in the hospital wing. They're _brutal_. Just try to stay safe."

Caitlin saluted half-heartedly and started walking over to the goal posts. She was next to one of the goal posts when she heard shouts which seemed to be aimed at her. She spun around to see a bludger about ten metres away – too close to avoid – and closing fast. So she did the only thing she could – dropped her broom and made an immediate shield between her and the bludger. As it was, the bludger hit the shield with enough speed that the force of the impact sent pushed her back into the goalpost. On the plus side, of course, the bludger had rebounded off her shield and went off on its merry way to attack someone else. Caitlin dropped her shield and focussed on getting herself un-winded. Because she'd hit the goalpost pretty darn hard.

Suppressing numerous obscenities, she held on to the post for support as she dragged in air to refill her aggravated and oxygen-deprived lungs. "Are you alright? I'm so sorry. That one just went off course and headed straight for you. Are you hurt…" Neville, was getting all horrified and chivalrously guilty, dismounting next to Caitlin and attempting to ascertain whether or not she was hurt. Oliver wasn't far behind.

"I'm fine." She wheezed. This was followed by a mild coughing fit, after which she straightened. "All good. Not injured at all, and I should have been paying more attention. It's no-one's fault, and as you can see, I'm alright." She was, perhaps, being slightly cheerier than usual to cover for the fact that the left side of her ribcage hurt like the dickens from where it had impacted and she was reasonably sure she'd be bruised come the next day.

Neville apologised little more before returning to training. Oliver just stood in front of her with arms crossed. "You're sure you're not injured?"

Caitlin drew herself up to her full height. All five foot five of it, which was a bit pitiful in comparison with Oliver's six foot two. "I'm sure. I'll be bruised tomorrow, but other than that, I am fine and dandy."

"I did tell you to keep a look out."

"I'm fine!" protested Caitlin.

"Mount up then, it's time for you to practice against an actual keeper."

And so she did. It was like waterpolo, but with less biting, no risk of anyone ripping her clothing off to try to pull her focus, and three smaller goals. And the whole flying thing. Which, Caitlin realised with mild horror, was starting to feel worryingly natural. WAS NOTHING SACRED?

At half past twelve, Harry signalled for his team to return to ground, at which point they all went off to lunch, vacating the field for the Ravenclaw team who were to use it in the afternoon. Caitlin retrieved her sticks and walked with Oliver to the storage shed to sign out the broom – it was apparently like a library, students could sign out brooms for personal use.

"Not to be inappropriate, but why are you teaching?" asked Caitlin. "Clearly your passion is playing Quidditch, and I know my judgement doesn't count for much, but you could probably be playing professionally."

"I was playing professionally for four years, with Puddlemere United. I got drafted to their reserve team straight out of Hogwarts, and two years later I was on the championship team. I wrecked my shoulders and upper back, to the extent that I couldn't play professionally. Most players get about ten, fifteen years before they're injured out, I was just unlucky. So I came back to the place where I learned how to play Quidditch to give younger kids the same opportunities I had."

"And to get a reference for when you hope to coach a real team." Caitlin pointed out the obvious.

"Aye, that too." Laughed Oliver. They were walking back to the school building. "So what are they doing for your subjects?"

"Professor McGonagall said that I'd be trialling all the classes to see where my competencies are, and we'd go from there. Except for something called Charms, which apparently I'm not suited to at all."

"You wouldn't be. It's all about wandcraft."

"And the rest of the subjects aren't?"

"Well, of the compulsory subjects, there's Defence Against the Dark Arts, which is quite magic based, but from what I saw earlier with that bludger, you'll be fine. Then there's Charms, which we've already established you won't be doing; Transfiguration, which could be an issue, but if professor McGonagall thinks you've got a chance, you probably do, seeing as she's the one teaching it. Potions wand free all the way, as are Herbology, History of Magic and Astronomy; so all in all you'll probably manage fine. The electives are all magic related, but not magic based. There's Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, which is crazy voodoo done with numbers which I've never quite grasped, Muggle Studies, which you'd no doubt ace, although they still haven't found anyone willing to teach it. Having said that, there aren't exams for Muggle Studies, so I don't really think that's an issue. Then there's Care of Magical Creatures, self explanatory, and Divination, which is basically a waste of time. And then for the students who are seventeen, there's Apparition training if they're in such a way inclined."

Caitlin nodded slowly. This could be fun.

"Oh, and of course there's flying, but I'm reasonably sure you've worked out what that entails by now." They'd reached the Great Hall. "I'll see you at the Ravenclaw try-outs." Said Oliver as he headed off to the staff table. Caitlin ran up to the common room, finding it surprisingly easy to locate, and stopped in front of the gargoyle.

"What goes 'round the house, and in the house, yet never touches it?" it asked.

"The sun." she answered.

"Very good." The wall opened, and Caitlin was free to run up to her dorm, deposit her sticks, and then head back down to the great hall where she saw Isabel and Anthony and the rest of the Quidditch team.

"Caitlin!" he waved her over. "Oliver told me you'd be trying out today. Interested in giving Quidditch a go?"

She shrugged. "It seems fun. He showed me the ropes, and I've even learned how to fly." She couldn't suppress the little 'fangirl' dance she did at the end of the sentence.

"You'll fit in fine with that attitude." Remarked Isabel with a grin.

And for the record, she did. Because despite lack of experience, there's nothing more efficient at goal scoring than a Waterpolo player.

A/N: JKR uses, in her accompanying novel, _Quidditch through the Ages_, the allusion of a quaffle being charmed so that it would fall slowly 'as if through water' if dropped, to remove the necessity to dive sharply whenever it is dropped. A Quaffle, being filled with air, which is infinitely less dense than water, would float like a motherfucker in such a situation. Thus, in order for it to sink slowly through the air as if a solid falling through a medium more viscous than air, thus having its descent slowed as JKR was no doubt attempting to explain, albeit without really thinking it through, it would have to be falling through a substance less dense than that filling it. Let's say it's falling through helium.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: following some discussion with my delightful friend Legs from the user 'lege et lacrima', I have some news for you all. You will note that this fic is listed as George W./OC. This is going to be the end result of the fic, but that's not to say that Caitlin won't meet someone else who is her romantic interest for a while. Or two someones specifically, who will become evident in due course.**

**Just thought you ought to know that the path to true love won't be running smooth.**

After her successful try-outs, Caitlin sat down at one of the tables in the common room with parchment and a fountain pen. She had noticed that the majority of the other students used quills for some completely indiscernible reason. Admittedly ballpoint pens couldn't handle the atmosphere of magic at Hogwarts, going all multicoloured and then exploding without warning, but that didn't stop old-school equipment like fountain pens from working like a charm (for lack of a better descriptor). The first letter she wrote was to her mother.

_Dear mum:_

_I'm doing my best to settle in at Hogwarts, but this place is insane. The paintings move, there are ghosts, and the only sport offered is played on broomsticks. The ceiling of the Great Hall is spelled to look like the sky. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. _

_I'm on my house's Quidditch team (that's the sport on the broomsticks – Aunt Mel can explain. Tell her I'm in Ravenclaw). Classes start on Monday, at which point they're going to figure out which classes I'll be taking._

_The girls I'm sharing a dorm with are lovely, if occasionally a bit left field. Otherwise, there's not much to say as yet._

_Much love, _

_Caitlin x_

Asking Luna for directions to the Owlery, she tied the letter to Sparky and returned to the common room, at which point she embarked upon her letter to George.

_Hullo George._

_You said I should write to you if I had any questions etc., and I do. Numerous. To start with, what's with the Sorting Hat? How does it work? It put me in Ravenclaw. Does that mean anything, or is it just a randomised selection process? I won't bother asking you to explain Quidditch, because I've got the rudiments by now and there's bound to be a book on the subject in the library, which I'm yet to take a look at. Suffice to say, I'm a Chaser for Ravenclaw as of this morning's try-outs. Which brings me to ask why I'm so sore, having merely sat on a stick for the majority of the day. It's not even like there was any strenuous activity involved._

_I haven't started classes as yet, so there aren't any questions on that front, so I just want to know this: does everything get less weird? I spend half the time smiling blankly and nodding to cover for the fact that I have NO BLOODY IDEA WHATSOEVER WHAT I'M DOING. Any information you have would be welcome. _

_Otherwise, all is well, although I'm off to plot the extra-judicial murder of bloody Oliver Wood who thought it would be fun to get me into Quidditch, the end result of which was the fact that I can't move. _

_Caitlin_

Walking again to the Owlery (this time far more stiffly), Caitlin was surprised to see Sparky already returned. Caitlin shrugged, not about to question the system, and tied the new letter to her leg. Once again, Sparky flew off. Caitlin could only hope that she'd receive an answer. Receiving one would assure her that somehow her owl managed to fly at Mach 10 so as to make her travel times seem plausible.

Returning finally to the common room, she found Isabel, Luna and Amelia sitting on the floor next to the fire painting their nails. Caitlin lay down next to them with a groan.

"You alright there?" asked Isabel.

"The pain is painful. I am stiff in muscles I wasn't even aware could get stiff."

"That was your first time flying, wasn't it."

"Yeah."

"It gets better. Stretch it out and you'll be fine by Monday… Tuesday at the latest."

Caitlin groaned again and Isabel laughed. "Give us your hands."

"That depends on what colour they're going to be."

"Navy blue with bronze, obviously." Answered Amelia, taking the one hand. Caitlin, lying on her back with her arms above her head couldn't really do anything to stop them.

"You were quite good for someone who had never flown before." Remarked Luna after a lengthy pause in the conversation.

"I ran into Oliver while I was doing some Lacrosse practice. He suggested I give Quidditch a go and then spent a few hours teaching me. Otherwise I still wouldn't know how to get onto a broomstick, let alone fly one."

"You 'ran into' 'Oliver' and are on first name terms are you?" asked Amelia in a tone which denoted much waggling of eyebrows.

"To begin with," began Caitlin, "I physically ran into him. I turned to chase after a ball and collided with him bodily. And he's on first name terms with everyone." She finished acidly.

"She's joking." Said Isabel. "Although you have to admit he's a bit of a dish."

"The body I collided with was most definitely firm." Caitlin grinned. "And he's not even that old."

"A couple of the seventh years have posters of him from back when he played professionally. From what I hear, he only looks better in Quidditch robes."

"And now what say we change the subject to something less likely to prompt ethical dilemmas later?" asked Amelia in as steely a tone as a welsh person could manage.

"Ok." Said Isabel. "How did you end up here." The question was, as you can no doubt assume, aimed at Caitlin.

"I met a guy in a graveyard. He saw me do some magic, which was awkward until it turned out he could do magic as well. Things went from there."

"Who was the guy?" asked Amelia. From what Caitlin could gather, not many people were getting action at Hogwarts, hence all the vicarious interest come the mention of anyone of the opposite gender.

"George Weasley. Ginny's brother."

"The one ear guy?" asked Isabel.

"Yeah. Mum freaked when she met him for that exact reason. Well, she didn't freak so much as glare disapprovingly at him." Eyes were rolled in understanding.

"So what is there by way of socialising around here?" asked Caitlin, genuinely curious.

"Every Sunday when the lake's frozen we go skating." Said Luna, who true to what she had said the night before was conjuring butterflies.

"You missed the Yule Ball, which is the week before term ends." Added Isabel. "But of course there's Quidditch. Oliver's made it so that one Saturday a month, the pitch is free space, so all the little kids and the older kids who didn't make the grade or didn't try can just have a fly around. That's when we do most of our socialising with the other teams."

"There's the chamber choir." Offered Amelia. "The acoustics around this school are amazing, so even though they're not great, it sounds good regardless. Some of the guys are cute."

"Especially Neville." Noted Isabel.

"Neville sings?" asked Caitlin.

"The kind of baritone that makes your internal organs go all gooey." Isabel continued. "He's just got one of those voices. And what he can do with Mozart…" she trailed off with a sigh.

"That good?" asked Caitlin.

"You'll just have to come along to a practice. Every Monday evening at seven. Do you sing? We're all alto." Offered Amelia.

"Me too. And I love singing."

"Lovely." Said Luna. "Because it was just the three of us on alto, and it was getting hard to carry a part."

"Which teacher runs it?"'

"None specifically. I think Neville's the driving force behind it to be honest, although Oliver comes by from time to time." Amelia capped her bottle of nailpolish. "Done."

Caitlin glanced at her nails. They were a glossy navy blue with two thin diagonal bronze lines on each nail. She noticed that the other girls had the same pattern on their nails. She raised an eyebrow.

"We've been doing this every Saturday since first year."

"Is it going to last all week?" asked Caitlin, who even with a top-coat could never get her nailpolish to last more than three days.

"It'll last for as long as I want it to last. I brewed this stuff up myself. Not only is it indestructible in contact with everything except the remover I also made, it makes your nails unbreakable, which means you won't be having any nails torn out of nail-beds as a result of catching a ball at the wrong angle."

Caitlin, knowing just how painful that was, grinned. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. You're with us now."

Come Sunday, as promised, there was ice-skating. Caitlin was once again thankful of the fact that her aunt Mel had told her to err on the side of caution when it came to packing. Carrying her hockey skates (when one's father was Canadian, one tended to learn some Canadian sports), she walked with Luna, Isabel and Amelia to the lake, where much of the school were congregated already, either already skating or lacing themselves up.

Once on the ice, the girls split up. Luna was content to skate around in dreamy circles, looking at the sky; Isabel and Amelia went off to drum up interest for a massive game of tag; and Caitlin, who hadn't been on the ice in over two years, was busy getting her stride back. Because when one's out of practice, being on the surprisingly bumpy surface of a frozen lake doesn't help matters.

Someone stopped next to her. "You alright there?" it was, of course, Neville, with his adorably northern accent.

"I haven't been skating in a couple of years, and I'm just really out of practice." Caitlin said as she hit a bump and promptly fell into Neville's arms. "And the thing that kills me," she continued, "is the fact that I was really good."

He set her upright and offered his arm. "Figure skating?" he asked as her muscle memory slowly returned.

"No." she laughed. "Ice hockey."

"I see the girls in your dorm have adopted you." He remarked.

"How did you know?"

Neville indicated her nails. "Last year when everyone was basically hiding out, trying not to get killed, they would paint their nails every Saturday without fail, regardless of whatever else was going on. At one point, Amelia was having an arm wound stitched up while Luna and Isy kept on painting."

"She's tougher than she looks." Remarked Caitlin, watching Amelia exhibit a daredevil side as she skated in and around a sea of first and second years trying to evade Anthony, who was currently 'it'. Isabel was talking to a person whom Caitlin just couldn't make out, and Luna had evidently spotted someone, because she was walking over a snow drift and out of sight.

A couple of Hufflepuffs (or so they seemed to be by their scarves) had set up an old wind-up record player and were playing some old fifties song. "Would you care to dance?" asked Neville, skating around to face her.

"Is that even safe?" asked Caitlin.

"Probably not, but why should that stop us?" he responded, putting an arm around her waist, and taking her hand and spinning her off across the lake. Or at least that had been the plan. Because as it turns out, what works on dry land doesn't necessarily work when both parties are balancing on knives on a slippery surface. Because what actually happened was that someone's skate got stuck, and then they both fell over. Which meant that Caitlin was winded for the second time in as many days. Neville, having landed on Caitlin, was in somewhat better shape, and so rolled off and stood immediately, offering a hand to Caitlin as she tried to cough some air into her lungs again.

Still wheezing, she fixed Neville with a stare and said "I did question whether or not it was safe."

"Sorry." Neville grinned. "Perhaps later on solid ground?"

"I might take you up on that." Caitlin dusted herself off just as Isabel skated past and tagged her. Before she could react, Neville was creating as much distance as he could between them, at which point the chase was on. Because she was back in the game, and if there was something she had mastered on ice, it was speed.

Fifteen minutes later in play, Isabel collided with Anthony, and both went down in a great flailing of limbs. Then Isabel started swearing quite creatively as she bled from the nose. Caitlin skated up with Neville close behind. She looked at Isabel's nose, conjured a ball of snow in her hand and gave it to Isabel. "You've got a broken nose. Carefully stick this on your face. It'll slow the bleeding and numb you a bit if you're lucky."

Anthony had a nasty gash in the skin between his thumb and the rest of his fingers which he hadn't noticed in his efforts to check whether his sister was alright. With Neville helping Isabel up and ostensibly to the hospital wing, Caitlin was able to concentrate on Anthony. Conjuring a roll of gauze, she wadded some up on top of the bleeding and then bandaged it tightly. "Keep compression on this and hold it above your heart. Now let's get you to the hospital wing." After some difficulties involving skate removal and constant reminders to keep his bloody wound elevated, they made it to the hospital wing where Isabel's nose was being set by Madame Pomfrey and Neville was standing by the door waiting for her arrival. Luna and Amelia were leaning against the wall next to Isabel's bed, waiting for madame Pomfrey to finish. Once she had, she turned to Anthony.

"What happened to you?" she asked, just as Caitlin called "Keep it ELEVATED." Madame Pomfrey noticed the bandaging and figured out the rest.

Caitlin exchanged a thumbs up with Isabel and then headed to the door where Neville remained. "That was pretty ninja." He remarked as Caitlin leaned against the wall. "We could have used you here last year."

Caitlin shook her head. "I can triage, and bandage, but that's it. I was just doing what needed to be done."

He offered a hand. "You need to lighten up. Come with me."

Caitlin shrugged and followed. She found herself being led up and down corridors, through passageways and up and down different staircases. Eventually she came to a stop next to a moving tapestry of a man being bludgeoned to death by what looked like giants. She shrugged and went with it.

"Stay here." Neville let go of her hand and paced back and forth past a stretch of wall until suddenly a door appeared. He opened it and gestured for her to enter.

She walked in and gasped.


	11. Chapter 11

The room was filled with trampolines. And not the pissy little backyard ones either. The proper sized and tensioned gymnastics trampolines that facilitate actual flipping.

"Huh." Neville seemed surprised.

"What?" asked Caitlin.

"I hadn't pegged you for a trampolines kind of girl."

"What do you mean?"

"This is the room of requirement. You walk up and down the corridor thinking what you need, and the room gives it to you. I thought for something that would cheer you up, and this happened."

Caitlin laughed and took off her shoes and external layers. "I take it you've never done anything on an actual trampoline before. Come on." She selected a trampoline and began jumping, gesturing for Neville to do the same. Once she had enough height, she began doing flips, occasionally giggling. Neville on the other hand merely sat against a pillar.

"You don't like trampolines?" she asked.

"As strange as this sounds, I don't like heights."

"But you play Quidditch!"

"That's different. In Quidditch I've got a broom."

"And on a trampoline, you've got a bouncy surface."

Neville shrugged.

After a while Caitlin, grinning widely, got off the trampoline and collapsed next to Neville. "You're awesome. Has anyone told you that lately?"

"You." He responded.

"Well honestly. You're a champ."

"How're you finding things around here?"

"Confusing and slightly scary. I can't help but think that there are going to be a whole lot of death rumours floating around my old school once term starts up again."

"Seriously?"

"What else do you assume when the cancer kid doesn't turn up? I'm kind of freaking out about classes because I have no idea WHATSOEVER as to what I'm in for."

"You'll be fine." Said Neville. "You're a tough one."

"Do you know where the library is?" she asked after a while.

"Would you like me to show you?"

"That would be fantastic." Caitlin put her shoes back on and gathered her coat, scarf, etc. "Lead on."

Neville offered an arm, and off they went. The library was easy enough to find, being quite close to Ravenclaw tower, and was overseen by a murderous looking librarian whom Neville introduced as madame Pince. Once past the loans desk, Caitlin faltered. "How do I find the book I'm looking for?" she asked, genuinely confused as she couldn't see any catalogue computers (duhh).

Neville led her to a bank of small drawers. "What are you looking for?" he asked.

"Books on Quidditch."

"Alright then. Look directly at the drawers, and say Quidditch."

Caitlin did, and lo a drawer opened. "So now I look through the catalogue cards until I find the book I want?" she asked.

Neville nodded. "Once you've got the book you want, the card will take you there. And if you want my advice, try this book." He rifled through the cards and took one out. "Quidditch through the ages is the basic guide to Quidditch. It's all you'll really need."

The card took off in the direction of the stacks, and they followed it. Eventually it pulled to a halt in front of a book. Once Caitlin had removed the book from the shelf, the card zoomed back to its home.

"Over there," Neville pointed, "you can see the study areas. That's for if your common room gets too loud or distracting to study in. Although you're in Ravenclaw, so I don't think that'll be too much of an issue. It's useful for group study when they're not all in your house though."

They walked to the loans desk where madame Pince was not looking favourably upon Caitlin's hair. "Do not, under any circumstances, harm this book in any way. The punishments for doing so are especially dire."

Caitlin nodded hastily and exited. "Is she always that…" she searched for the right word. "Evil?"

"Yeah." Said Neville. "Don't take it personally."

"It's hard not to." She pointed out. They reached the gargoyle guarding the Ravenclaw tower.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Said Neville. "Try not to freak out too much in the meantime."

Caitlin grinned, gave him a hug, answered the riddle, and headed inside to read up on Quidditch.

The next day, Caitlin's faith in mail by owl was cemented. At breakfast, Sparky had swooped down to her with a letter, taken a piece of toast and flown off, presumably feeling like quite the victorious hunter. Caitlin tucked the letter into one of the numerous pockets on her robes. She was beginning to see their use. They may have been irritating and a bit camp, but at least there was loads of storage space.

As everyone started standing to go to class (from what she had gathered, classes started at 0800, and ran until lunch at midday, with class reconvening at 1300 and running until 1700, with the exception of Fridays, when everything finished an hour earlier), Susan appeared with a timetable.

"Here are your classes. If you get lost…" she paused, cringing slightly. "Just don't get lost. Ask the paintings for directions if you need to. Have fun."

Caitlin examined her timetable. She had double Defence Against the Dark Arts, followed by double Muggle Studies (she snorted at that one); double Ancient Runes and then double Potions. It seemed doable.

"Come on." Said Amelia. "We've got Defence with the Slytherins."

Caitlin followed. The classroom was a large one with the desks stacked against the side wall and a frankly terrifying looking woman standing at the front.

"Welcome back." She said when everyone was inside with their book bags stacked against another wall. "This term I'll be starting a duelling club, which will be practising on Tuesdays in the great hall. To start off the new term, I've decided that today, we're going to be doing some duelling. Any volunteers?"

Caitlin glanced around and noticed that at the word 'volunteers', everyone had blanched.

"You. Blue hair." Said the woman. "You're the new girl, aren't you."

Caitlin nodded. "Let's see what you can do. After this, you're all going to pair up. Stand over there." She indicated the other end of the room. Caitlin stood. "Prepare, and go." Caitlin stood still. "EXPELLIARMUS!"

A burst of red light flew towards Caitlin, who did the logical thing, and made a shield, at the same time wondering why in the name of all that was holy, they were allowing teachers to throw spells willy-nilly at students. Meanwhile, the teacher, whose name Caitlin still didn't know, was shouting different things as she shot different spells at Caitlin, who merely stood, unperturbed. The shouting was actually getting a bit irritating, so she filtered out sound. She was untouchable in her little silent bubble. So she decided to try her luck. She walked sedately, yet purposefully towards the teacher who it seemed had not been suspecting such a turn of events.

Assuming that if the teacher was allowed to shoot spells at her, she was allowed bodily contact, Caitlin grabbed the woman by the wrist, twisted it behind her and relieved her of her wand. She then handed it back to the teacher. "Ten points to Ravenclaw."

Only after everyone had paired up did she drop her shield. "Pearson at your six." Said Isabel (sporting delightful black eyes which lent credence to the school of thought stating that madame Pomfrey fixed wounds and healed bones, and then left the bruising as a reminder not to do it again), prompting Caitlin to spin around. So the teacher was called Pearson.

"Amazing work there, West. Have you put any thought into what you want to do once you're out of Hogwarts?"

Caitlin shrugged. "Medicine."

"Have a think about training to become an Auror."

"What's an Auror?" asked Caitlin once Pearson had strode off.

"Dark wizard catcher." Replied Isabel, shooting a flurry of hexes at Caitlin's shield. "They're suffering from a bit of a shortage at the moment if you catch my drift."

"I can imagine."

"What class do you have next?"

"Double muggle studies."

Isabel looked confused. "I've got muggle studies and then charms. Our classes should be on the same lines."

Caitlin shrugged. "I'm just going with it."

After two hours of chatting whilst spells were thrown at her, it came time for Caitlin to go to Muggle Studies. "It's basically just us watching muggle films since they can't find us a teacher. Complete waste of time, but good for relaxation or getting a jump on homework. Ooh. McGonagall at our twelve." She said loud enough for the surrounding students to make themselves more orderly.

"Miss West, if I could have a word?" she opened the door to the classroom and waved Caitlin inside. "One of the seventh-years has informed me that you are well versed in muggle history and politics." She said once the door was closed.

"I suppose…" replied Caitlin, thoroughly confused. "But why are we discussing this?"

"Because we need a muggle studies teacher. And you are the closest thing we have to a muggle."

"That doesn't mean I'm qualified to teach it!" Caitlin could swiftly see where this was going.

"Quite frankly, miss West, it wasn't really a choice. I don't care what you do, but I want them having a better understanding of muggle culture by the time you're done. It would be even better if they also knew how to do things like catch a train and answer a telephone. There will be a teacher supervising and to keep everyone in line, and in the meantime, you are going to teach." Just then Oliver walked in. "Ah, mr Wood. Just in time. You know what to do, Caitlin has been informed, and I have a class to get to." And she was gone in a twirl of robes.

"This should be interesting." Said Oliver with a wry smile.

"Tell me about it." Said Caitlin as the rest of the class started filing in. There were around 25 students by her count.

"What did McGonagall need to talk to you about?" asked Isabel.

"I'll explain in a second." Said Caitlin as everyone took their seats. Oliver leaned against a pillar and raised his eyebrows at her. Caitlin dragged in a deep breath and did what she had done at her old school when she was coaching the first formers in debating: sat on the teacher's desk and introduced herself. "Ok, everyone. I'm Caitlin West, the 'now wand' chick, and professor McGonagall has mandated that I'll be teaching you muggle studies."

There was an outburst of comments along the lines of 'What the fuck?', as well as a 'you've got to be kidding me' from one of the Hufflepuff boys in the back corner.

"Live with it." Caitlin directed to that area of the room. "So. Who has muggle parents?" a smattering of hands went up. "Alright. You lot aren't allowed to answer the next couple of questions. Let's start. What are the main political parties in Britain?" awkward silence. "Who is Margaret Thatcher?" Awkward silence. "The Spice Girls?" Quizzical looks. "One last question: Does anyone know where the Falklands are?" silence. "Ex-muggles, you're allowed to jump in… Anyone?" a Hufflepuff girl raised her hand tentatively. "Yes. Your name and your answer."

"I'm Lucy MacMillan, and the Faulklands are a cluster of islands to the east of South America which commonly serve as a base for Antarctic expeditions. Because of their location, they were the focus of a highly publicised and surprisingly bloody war between Britain and Argentina. Which Margaret Thatcher was the Prime Minister at the time of. She was from the Conservative and Union party, generally referred to as the Tories, and the other main party are Labour. And the Spice Girls were a pop group."

Caitlin turned to Oliver. "Am I allowed to give points?"

"You're not, but I am."

"Could you confer ten points to Hufflepuff?"

"Ten points to Hufflepuff."

"Thanks. So, back to muggles. How many of you intend to integrate with the muggle world to some extent once you're older?" about half of the class had their hands up. "I'm talking live in an apartment block where there might be muggles. Send your kids to the local prep school before they're old enough to go to Hogwarts. Have appliances which run on electricity." Now all the hands were up. "And how many of you know how many second world wars there were?" a significant number of hands dropped. "Yeah. Because if and when you're interacting with muggles, they are running on the assumption that you understand various oblique references to popular culture and assumed knowledge of history. As a result, I'll be giving you a runthrough of Muggle history for the last five hundred years or so, along with how events affected the muggle world today. I'll also be explaining popular culture, and various life skills such as catching public transport and using a telephone. Any questions?"

"Are you qualified to teach us?" asked Ginny.

"No. In the meantime however, I'm all there is. Having been a muggle for the past sixteen and a half years, I've had the most experience of being a muggle of anyone at this school. What is Halloween? To muggles."

"The night when spirits walk the earth and the like."

"No, that's Halloween to you. Halloween to muggles is a holiday when small children dress up as monsters and blackmail strangers into giving them candy, and the 17=25 age bracket dress up in questionable fashions and get exceedingly drunk. That is the difference between muggles and witches and wizards like yourselves. Not only do they not have magic, but they don't know magic exists. As a result, things have different meanings to them. Any other questions?"

The rest of the hour was spent answering questions like 'how does a telephone work', and the questions stemming from their explanations such as 'what are resonance frequencies?' and 'what's physics?', and Caitlin's personal favourite 'is this what they teach you at Muggle school?' which in and of itself prompted a five minute explanation of the school system.

Finally the bell rang signalling the end of the lesson. The sixth years filed out, leaving Caitlin behind for the next muggle studies class on her timetable.

"You did well there." Said Oliver.

Caitlin groaned. "I didn't have any other option. It was that or anarchy." She pulled out her timetable and looked at it. "I have eight hours of this a week? IS SHE COMPLETELY INSANE?"

Oliver shrugged. "If she is, there's nothing you can do about it."

Caitlin rolled her eyes and started jotting down a list of things she would need sent from home. "Is there somewhere you can get Muggle post here?" she asked.

"Hogsmeade. It's the town at the foot of the hill the castle stands on. If you've got anything heavier than can be carried by an owl, you can send or receive it from there."

"Greeeeeat." Said Caitlin looking at what she had written so far.

_Diplomacy – Kissinger_

_Summary of from USB_

_Train tickets_

_World maps_

_Sheet music collection (baroque onwards)_

_Subscription to the Times, Economist_

Then the next class came in. Seventh years. Brilliant. "Hi everyone. I'm Caitlin, and I'll be your new muggle studies teacher. Any questions?"


End file.
